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The 
Compromises of Life 

AND OTHER LECT,URES AND 
ADDRESSES 

Including Some Observations on 

Certain Downward Tendencies 

of Modern Society 

By 
HENRY WATTERSON 




NEW YORK 

FOX, DUFFIELD & COMPANY 

1903 



TH£ LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS. 



T*vo Copies Rec«ive^ C ^ 

OCT 12 1903 T^3'*^ ' 

CLASS It XXc. No I V'* * T* 

COPY Q. y ' 



Copyright, 1903, Aj; 
FOX, DUFFIELD Sf COMPANY 

Published, October, 1903 



(Cfje (Crow pre»)S, Jfteto gorft 



Publishers' Note 

In issuing this volume of "Lectures and Addresses " 
the publishers are induced by many considerations to 
believe that they meet a requisition of the reading pub- 
lic. Few writers in the last three decades have been 
more noted, few speakers heard by larger audiences, 
than the editor of the Louisville Courier- Journal. As 
the successor of Prentice, he carried forward the work 
of that eminent and brilliant man to yet further 
achievement; succeeding, before he was thirty years of 
age, in combining the newspapers of the Kentucky 
metropolis and in creating out of the union a journal 
of national influence and celebrity. 

Although an untiring journalist, versed in the varied 
lore of newspaper organism and management, Mr. 
Watterson early became a favorite in political conven- 
tions and on the hustings, a popular lecturer, and a 
captivating occasional speaker. He led the Southern 
wing of the Liberal movement in 1872 — a member 
of the famous Quadrilateral, his colleagues being Mr. 
Samuel Bowles, Mr. Murat Halstead, and Mr. Hor- 
ace White — whose labors, though not so designed, cul- 
minated in the nomination of Horace Greeley for 
President. Henceforward he occupied a conspicuous 
position in the councils of the Democratic party, 
largely its platform-maker from 1876 to 1892. He 
was the close friend of Mr. Tilden, presiding over the 
National Convention which nominated the Sage of 
Greystone for President, and, later on, his personal 
representative upon the floor of the Lower House of 



Publishers' Note 

Congress. He accepted this seat in Congress at Mr. 
Tilden's urgency and against his own inclinations, de- 
clining a re-election. With this exception, he has per- 
sistently refused office. "I resolved," he said, on one 
occasion, when offered a distinguished position, "when 
a very young man, that I would not perpetrate the 
mistake of Greeley and Raymond." 

A notable figure wherever he has appeared, Mr. 
Watterson's relation to the public questions of his time 
has been that of a leader, who, having reached his own 
conclusions, took no thought of the consequences. He 
stood for the pacification of the country and the rec- 
onciliation of the sections upon the acceptance of the 
three final amendments to the Constitution, which he 
described as the Treaty of Peace between the North 
and the South, when not another voice on his own 
side of the line could be heard in his support, and lived 
to see his policy universally accepted. He stood for 
the public credit and a sound currency, with scarcely 
any but a silent following in his own party, during the 
Greenback craze and through the succeeding Free 
Silver agitation, still living to see his course vindicated 
by the results. Mainly through his efforts the old 
black-laws were removed from the statute-books of 
Kentucky, and the Kentucky negro was invested, with- 
out the violence which marked other of the old Slave 
States, with his new rights of citizenship. 

Years before Lamar delivered his eulogy of Sum- 
ner, and while Grady was a school-boy, Mr. Watter- 
son was passing backward and forward between the 
two embittered sections laying the foundation for the 
epoch-making utterances of those great orators. 
Through all his writing and speaking one dominant 
note will be found — the national destiny and the 
homogeneity of the people — charity and tolerance — 
constituting a key to his life-long labor of love. 



Publishers' Note 

In this volume the publishers reproduce only such 
political expressions as seem to be historic and are in 
a sense non-partisan, omitting merely campaign and 
convention speeches, which, however striking, relate to 
contemporary interests. 

The lectures show for themselves. The addresses, 
beginning with the memorial to Prentice, delivered 
upon the invitation of the Legislature of Kentucky in 
1870, to the "Ideal in Public Life," delivered in 1903, 
on the occasion of the Emerson centenary, including 
the dedication of the Columb'an Exposition, in 1892, 
the Cross-swords speech of 1877 in the National 
Cemetery at Nashville, and the many intermediate 
contributions to the patriotic spirit of the time, notably 
the Grand Army reception upon its first encampment 
on Southern soil in 1895, will need no word of in- 
troduction to appreciative Americans. 

In the form of an "Appendix " the publishers add 
to these addresses a series of articles from the Courier- 
Journal which seem to have more than ephemeral in- 
terest. These relate to "certain downward tendencies 
in what is known as the Smart Set of Fashionable So- 
ciety." They created a prodigious sensation when 
they appeared, hardly less in London than in New 
York and Newport and other seats of the mighty 
Four Hundred, being translated into French and Ger- 
man, and made the text in Paris and Berlin for a 
critical revival among both the lay-preachers of the 
press and the leaders of the pulpit and the schools. 
The first of these articles was drawn out by a lamen- 
table tragedy, and they grew into a series, under the 
provocation of the newspaper criticisms which followed. 
Although more than a year has passed, they continue 
to be made the subjects of comment and controversy 
among those who delight to moralize on this particular 
theme; yet nothing was further from their author's 



Publishers' Note 

purpose, Mr. Watterson declares, than a social or 
ethical crusade, his sole aim being, in the discharge of 
his daily newspaper duties, "to take account of passing 
events and to shoot folly as it flies." 



CONTENTS 



I. IN MEMORIAM 

PAGE 

George Dennison Prentice 3 



11. LECTURES 

The Compromises of Life 29 

The South in Light and Shade 59 

Money and Morals 102 

Abraham Lincoln 137 

John Paul Jones . .181 



III. ADDRESSES 

The American Newspaper . . . . . . 225 

A Plea for Provincialism 260 

The Nation's Dead 276 

The New South 288 

Let Us Have Peace 294 

Our Expanding Republic 300 

A Welcome to the Grand Army. . . . . 313 
The Puritan and the Cavalier 318 



Contents 

PAGB 

The Reunited Sections 326 

Francis Scott Key . 331 

God's Promise Redeemed 344 

The Man in Gray 348 

Heroes in Homespun 356 

The Hampton Roads Conference .... 363 
The Ideal in Public Life 370 



IV. SPEECHES 

The Electoral Commission Bill 385 

England and America . 406 

Reciprocity and Expansion 412 

Farewell to the Kentucky Troops . . , . 428 
Blood Thicker than Water 438 



APPENDIX 

Certain Downward Tendencies in the Smart Set of 
Fashionable Society 

A Flock of Unclean Birds 455 

Approaching the Limit 455 

Those Unclean Birds Again 457 

The Smart Set, the Newspapers, and the Truth . 463 
Still Harping on My Daughter . . . . . 473 



I 

IN MEMORIAM 



GEORGE DENNISON PRENTICE* 

George Dennison Prentice was born in a little, old- 
fashioned New England cottage on the outskirts of the 
village of Preston, in Connecticut, December i8, 
1802, which came that year, as I find by reference 
to a chronological table, on a Saturday, and was at- 
tended by a north-east gale that swept down the coast 
and over the country far and near. He died in a Ken- 
tucky farm-house, on the banks of the Ohio River, ten 
miles below the city of Louisville, just before the 
break of Saturday, January 22, 1870, while an un- 
toward winter flood roared about the lonely spot. Be- 
tween the tempest of his coming and the tempest of his 
going flowed a life-current many-toned and strong; 
often illuminated by splendid and varied achievements, 
and sometimes overcast by shadowy passions, struggles, 
and sorrows; but never pausing upon its journey dur- 
ing sixty-seven years, nor turning out of its course; a 
long life and a busy, joining in uncommon measure 
thought to action, and devoting both to the practice of 

* A Memorial Address delivered by invitation of the Legislature of 
Kentucky, in the Hall of the House of Representatives, at Frankfort, 
February 22, 1870. 

3 



The Compromises of Life 

government, the conduct of parties, and the cultivation 
of belles-lettres. For this man w^as a daring partisan 
and a delighttul poet; the distinguished advocate of a 
powerful political organization; a generous patron of 
arts ; a constant friend to genius. In violent and law- 
less times he used a gun with hardly less effect than a 
pen, being regarded at one time as the best pistol-shot in 
Kentucky. By turns a statesman, a wit, a poet, a man 
of the world, and always a journalist, he gave to the 
press of his country its most brilliant illustrations, and 
has left to the State and to his progeny by all odds the 
most unique, if not the largest, reputation ever achieved 
by a newspaper writer. You recognized these things, 
and the Legislature of Tennessee recognized them, when 
his death was described in the resolutions of both assem- 
blies as a "public bereavement." Such an honor was 
never paid the memory of any other journalist; and, 
although you have signalized yourselves no less than 
him, it is my duty, and I assure you it is a very great 
satisfaction, to thank you on behalf of the profession 
which owes this, among so many obligations, to the 
genius of Prentice. 

There are some names that have a mysterious charm 
in them — that go directly from the ear to the heart like 
echoes from a world of beauty and enchantment — that 
whisper to us somehow of song and blossom — whose 
very shadows are fragrant and seductive. Rupert and 
Tasso and Diderot, Richter and Schiller and Chateau- 
4 



George Dennison Prentice 

briand, Sheridan and Byron and Maurice of Saxe, are 
of this nature, and represent, in one sort and another, 
what might be called the knight-errantry of civilization. 
Prentice belongs to the same class. What Rupert was 
in the saddle, and Diderot and Richter were in the 
fight for free opinions; what the friend of Madame 
Recamier was in letters and diplomacy; what Sheridan 
was in the Commons ; what Byron and Tasso and Mau- 
rice of Saxe were in the airy world of adventure, half 
actual and half myth — Prentice was to the press. But 
mention of his name, like mention of the others, does 
not recall the broils and battles in which he engaged; 
nor does it suggest those hard and dry realities, which, 
in common with his fellow-men, he had to encounter 
and endure. Much the reverse. It tells us of the 
princely and the splendid, the pleasant and the fanciful ; 
and because of this many persons have erroneously con- 
ceived his work to have been as the play of others, 
idealizing him as one whose genius was so scintillating 
and abundant that its flashes fell from him in spite of 
himself, like the stars that were cast from the armor of 
the magic buckler in the legend. Scintillant and 
abundant he was, but also a rare scholar and a pro- 
digious drudge — overflowing with both the energy and 
the poetry of life — admirably poised and balanced by 
the two forces which we understand as imagination 
and intellect. Burke's description of Charles Townsend 
seems a not inept sketch of George D. Prentice. I am 
5 



The Compromises of Life 

using Burke's own language: "There certainly never 
arose in this country a more pointed or a more finished 
wit, and, where his passions were not concerned, a more 
refined, exquisite, and penetrating judgment." Dur- 
ing a third of a century he was, as Hazlitt said of Cob- 
bett, a sort of fourth estate in the politics of America. 
Whatever cause he espoused he defended by a style of 
argument that was never trite nor feeble, nor muddy 
nor complex, but was luminous and strong, enriched 
by all that was necessary to establish it and decorate it, 
and suited exactly to the temper of the times and the 
comprehension of the people, which he rarely failed to 
hit between the acorn and the hull. In considering 
his career, however, I shall ask leave to speak of him 
rather as I knew him in his own person than as he was 
known to the public through the transactions in which 
he bore a part. I take it for granted that you are not 
at all curious to learn what opinion I or any man 
may entertain of this or that political event; and, at 
the very best, opinions will differ on these points, leav- 
ing us in the end nothing assured or distinct. If we 
would understand history, we must study the men who 
made it; and, in order to get a clear notion of their 
characters and motives, we need take rather the spirit 
than the record of their lives. I shall detain you, there- 
fore, neither by a moral upon the political experience of 
Kentucky, nor a narrative of the ups and downs of a 
bygone political generation. I wish to give you instead 
6 



George Dennison Prentice 

a homely, and, as far as I may be able, a graphic picture 
of George D. Prentice as he was known to his familiars ; 
for I suppose I need not tell you that he was a man of 
many marked traits and peculiarities of manner, of 
voice, of appearance, and even of gait, as well as of 
genius. 

The newspapers have already acquainted you with 
the leading points in his career. That he was born, as 
I have stated, in 1802; that he was taught by his 
mother to read the Bible with ease when a little over 
three years of age ; that he studied under Horace Mann 
and Tristam Burges at Brown University, where he 
became a famous Latin and English scholar, reciting 
the whole of the twelfth book of the iEneid from 
memory for a single lesson, and committing, in like 
manner, such books as Kames's "Elements of Criti- 
cism" and Dugald Stuart's "Philosophy"; that he be- 
gan as an editor in Hartford, coming thence to Ken- 
tucky to write a life of Henry Clay, and remain- 
ing here to establish the Louisville Journal^ in 1830; 
and that he made it the most celebrated and popu- 
lar newspaper in America, and himself the most con- 
spicuous journalist of his time, are matters of fact 
which need not be elaborated. They belong to biog- 
raphy. Of his marriage, after his wife had been 
taken from him, he was himself not averse to speak- 
ing, and dwelt upon her memory with a self-ac- 
cusing sorrow, which was sincere and touching. I 
7 



The Compromises of Life 

had never the happiness of knowing her, but from the 
representation of those who had reason to remember 
her hospitality or to bless her bounty, there can be no 
doubt that she was a most charming woman. He 
loved to refer to her as a girl, and it is curious that she 
is the only woman I ever heard him speak of with 
genuine warmth and tenderness, although there were 
many good and gentle women who had been his life- 
long friends. "I have not had credit," he said, on one 
occasion, "for being a devoted husband; but, if I had 
my life to go over, that is the only relation I would not 
alter ; she was the wisest, the purest, the best, and the 
most thoroughly enchanting woman I ever knew.'* 
Most persons will call to mind the verses which he ad- 
dressed to her. Verses are not always truth-tellers, 
but in this instance they expressed the impulses of a 
nature which, readily impressed by all things agreeable, 
could not be drawn out to the full by one of less grace 
of mind and heart. His affection for his children was 
likewise intense, and the loss of his elder son he never 
recovered from. I know of nothing more affecting than 
his fondness for a little, fair-haired, bright-eyed boy, a 
grandson, who bears his name, and who used often to 
come and visit him and spend whole afternoons in his 
room ; for you will understand that he lived in the office 
— slept and ate and worked there — seldom quitting it. 
Strangers supposed that he was decrepit, and there 
existed an impression that he had resigned his old place 
8 



George Dennison Prentice 

to a younger and more active spirit. He resigned noth- 
ing. I doubt whether he ever did more w^ork, or bet- 
ter v^^ork, during any single year of his life than dur- 
ing this last year. He said, on January i, 1869, 
"I w^ill make the last years of my life the best years of 
my life, and I shall v^^ork like a tiger ;" and he did vi^ork 
like a machine vi^hich seemed to have no stop in it. In 
a note to Mr. Haldeman, two or three months ago, he 
wrote: "I work twenty-four hours a day, and the rea- 
son I do not work any more is because the days are no 
longer." I have had some personal knowledge of the 
working capacity of the two newspaper writers in this 
country who have been reputed the readiest and most 
profuse; but I never knew anyone who could write as 
much as Prentice in a given time, or sustain the quan- 
tity and quality of his writing for so long a time. Mr. 
Raymond used to run abroad when fagged out, and 
Mr. Forney takes frequent recreative intervals. Pren- 
tice was unresting. He actually averaged from fifteen 
to eighteen hours a day, and kept this up month after 
month, turning out column upon column of all sorts of 
matter, "from grave to gay, from lively to severe." 
The only testiness he ever exhibited was when his work 
was interrupted; and yet, withal, he had leisure for 
abundant intercourse with his yoke-mates, and would 
every now and then appear like a sudden apparition, to 
one or another, with something curious or comical to 
say. But he never laughed at his own conceits. He 
9 



The Compromises of Life 

would sit at a table dictating the drollest things in a 
slow, precise, subdued tone of voice, unmoved and grave 
of aspect, while subdued laughter went round the room. 
I heard him once say to an amanuensis whom he had 
newly engaged, "Now, all I ask of you is write down 
what I tell you, but above all don't you watch my 
mouth like a cat watching a rat-hole." He was a care^ 
ful as well as a voluminous writer; set great store by 
accuracy of expression and exactness in marks of punc- 
tuation, and was an erudite grammarian, versed in all 
the schools, though wedded to his own. He invariably 
revised the manuscript of his amanuensis, and read his 
own proof-sheets. And yet, except to have his matter 
appear correctly, he was indifferent to it. He used to 
say, *'Use no ceremony with my copy. A man who 
writes as much as I do cannot expect to hit the nail 
always on the head." But he did hit it nearer and 
oftener than anybody else. He was much attached to 
Mr. Shipman, and had perfect confidence in the taste 
and judgment of that able writer and scholar. Some- 
times he would scribble a paragraph, not over nice, but 
always funny, intended to be struck out by Shipman. 
Not infrequently the wit got the better of Shipman's 
scruples, and the paragraph went in, which seemed to 
amuse Prentice vastly. He was by no means sensitive 
to what we call the "proprieties," and regarded many 
of the conventional notions of society as affected and 
absurd, and entitled to scant respect. He once told me 
lO 



George Dennison Prentice 

a story of his having horrified the steady old Whigs of 
Louisville soon after he began to edit the Journal, and 
in the midst of the Clay and Jackson vjzx, by riding to 
the race-course in an open carriage v^^ith Mrs. General 
Eaton, who happened to be passing through the city 
just after the notable scandal at Washington. At that 
time he w^as full and erect, rosy-cheeked and brown- 
haired, with an eye which at sixty-seven was still mar- 
vellous for its beauty and brightness, beaming with a 
clear, warm, and steady light. 

Prentice was twenty-seven years old w^hen he came to 
Kentucky. He was obscure and poor. The people 
were crude and rough. The times were boisterous. 
Parties were dividing upon measures of government 
which could not, in their nature, fail to arouse and em- 
bitter popular feeling, and to the violence of conflicting 
interests was added the enthusiasm which the rival 
claims of two great party chieftains everywhere excited. 
In those days there was no such thing as journalism as 
we now understand it and pursue it. The newspaper 
was but a poor affair, owned by a clique or a politician. 
The editor of a newspaper was nothing if not personal. 
Moreover, the editors who had appeared above the 
surface had been men of second-rate abilities, and had 
served rather as squires to their liege lords, the politi- 
cians. This latter at least Prentice reformed at once 
and altogether. He established the Louisville Journal; 
he threw himself into the spirit of the times as the pro- 
II 



The Compromises of Life 

fessed friend of Mr. Clay and the champion of his prin- 
ciples; but he invented a warfare hitherto unknown, 
and illustrated it by a personal identity which very soon 
elevated him into the rank of a party leader as well as a 
partisan editor. I fancy that the story of giants, which 
has come down to us through the nursery, illustrates the 
suggestion that in the early days of the world there was 
room for the play of a gigantic individuality, which 
population and civilization exclude from modern life. 
Originally men went out singly in quest of adventure, 
and a hero was, in faith, a giant; then they moved in 
couples, next in clusters. We now travel in circles. 
Combinations are essential. One man is nothing by 
himself. Our very political system is an organism of 
"rings" ; and the journal of to-day no longer represents 
the personal caprices and peculiarities of its editor, but 
stands as the type of a class of public opinion quite apart 
from the reach of individual influence. Personal jour- 
nalism is a lost art. Journalism is now a distinct pro- 
fession to which the individual editor holds the relation 
which the individual lawyer holds to the courts ; and as 
oratory is becoming less and less essential to the practice 
of law, so mere literary skill is becoming less and less 
essential to the practice of journalism. Mr. Prentice, 
the most distinguished example of the personal journal- 
ism of the past, leaves but one other behind him, and 
when Greeley goes there will be no one left, and we 
shall hardly see another. As Shakespeare said of the 



George Dennison Prentice 

players, "they die and leave no copy." Prentice, like 
Greeley, knew nothing and cared less for the machinery 
of the modern newspaper ; its multitude of writers, re- 
porters, and correspondents to be handled under fixed 
laws known to a common usage; its tangled web of 
telegraphy; its special departments and systematic 
mechanism. For details of this sort he had no concern. 
They belonged to a journalism very different from that 
in which he had made his fame. But he adapted himself 
to their needful exactions with cheerfulness; and he 
wrote as readily and vigorously in an impersonal char- 
acter as he had done, when he was not only writing 
solely in his own person, but when there was no know- 
ing at what moment he might not be called upon to 
back his bon mot by a bullet. 

From 1830 to 1861 the influence of Prentice was 
greater than the influence of any political writer of the 
time ; and it was an influence directly positive and per- 
sonal. It owed its origin to the union in his person of 
gifts which no one had combined before him. He had, 
to build upon, an intellect naturally strong and practi- 
cal, and this was trained by rigid scholarship. He pos- 
sessed a keen wit and a poetic temperament. He was 
brave and aggressive ; and, though by no means quarrel- 
some, he was as ready to fight as to write, and his lot 
was cast in a region where he had to do a good deal of 
both. Thus, the business of an editor requiring him 
to do the writing and fighting for his party, he did not 
13 



The Compromises of Life 

lack opportunities for manly display; and be sure he 
made every occasion tell for its full value. It is now 
generally admitted that he never came off worsted in 
any encounter, physical or intellectual. In his combats 
he displayed parts which were both signal and showy; 
overwhelming invective, varied by a careless, off-hand 
satire, which hit home ; or strong and logical, or plausi- 
ble and pleasing argument, that brought out the salient 
points of his subject and obscured the weak ones ; or nip- 
ping, paragraphic frost that sparkled and blighted; or 
quiet daring that was over-reckless of consequences. 
Who can wonder that he became the idol of his party ? 
Who can wonder that he was the darling of the mob? 
But with these great popular gifts, he was a gentleman 
of graceful and easy manners, genial among men, gal- 
lant among women, a sweet poet, a cultivated, chival- 
rous man of the world. I am not making a fancy sketch, 
although it looks like one ; because where will you go to 
find the like? It is easy enough to describe second or 
third-rate abilities. They belong to a class, and may 
be arrayed under a standard. But it is impossible to 
compare Prentice with any man. He was as great a 
partisan as Cobbett; but Cobbett was only a partisan. 
He was as able and as consistent a political leader as 
Greeley; but Greeley never had Prentice's wit or ac- 
complishments. I found in London that his fame is 
exceeded by that of no American newspaper writer; 
14 



George Dennison Prentice 

but the journalists of Paris, where there is still nothing 
but personal journalism, considered him a few years 
ago as the solitary journalist of genius among us. His 
sarcasms have often gone into Charivari, and several of 
his poems have been translated. The French adore 
Vesprit. They admire that which is abusive and brave. 
How could they fail to put a great estimate upon Pren- 
tice, who might have ranked with Sainte-Beuve as a 
critic, and certainly surpassed Rochefort as a master of 
invective. 

For five and thirty years his life marked an uninter- 
rupted success. He cared not at all for money, but 
what he needed he had, and there was no end to the 
evidence of his fame and power which constantly 
reached him. His imagination, nevertheless, took a 
melancholy turn, and threw out, in the midst of wild 
and witty partisan bursts, flashes of a somewhat morbid 
kind. It is not strange that, as he aged, he withdrew 
himself from very close and active human intercourse. 
His ambition, fitful at most, deserted him. His domes- 
ticity, to which he was attached, was gone. Society 
bored him. All his faculties remained clear and full; 
but the motive for effort was wanting, and he worked 
because it was his nature to work. He would have 
died else. He once quoted a verse of a fine poem of 
Mangan's, which reflected his mood and seemed to rep- 
resent his condition : 

15 



The Compromises of Life 

"Homeless, wifeless, flagonless, alone ; 

Not quite bookless though, unless I choose, 
With nothing left to do except to groan, 

Not a soul to woo except the muse. 
Oh, this is hard for me to bear, 

Me, that whilom lived so much en haut. 
Me, that broke all hearts, like chinawarc, 

Twenty golden years ago." 



He let his hair and beard grow long, and was careless 
in his dress. People thought him thoroughly broken 
down as they saw him on the street heedless, as he 
always had been, of passers-by, or in his room wearing 
his brown and tattered robe. They should have seen 
him enlivened by a glow of work or feeling, and in his 
shirt-sleeves, as lithe of limb and jaunty of carriage as 
a boy; no man of his age was ever more active. He 
once assured me that he had never had a headache in 
his life. It was not the infirmity of age which carried 
him off, but a disorder which a younger man might have 
resisted as feebly as he did. 

Prentice appeared as an author twice only. His 
biography of Henry Clay is a clever piece of political 
special pleading. The narrative, however, is meagre 
and rather turgid. It was not the story, but the argu- 
ment, which he had at heart; for the book was written 
to serve a campaign purpose. His little volume of 
witticisms from the Louisville Journal is more repre- 
sentative. In his preface he expressed a doubt whether 
i6 



George Dennison Prentice 

such a republication would bear the test of time. "I 
know," he said, "that such things do not keep well." 
But they have kept pretty well so far. I can recall no 
book of wit and humor, not even the collections of 
Hook and Jerrold, in which the salt is fresher or more 
savory ; and the student of that brevity which is the soul 
of wit can hardly find a better model of all that is neat, 
racy, and concise. Of these paragraphs most are good, 
but the best are those which were cracked over the head 
of poor Shadrach Penn. Prentice in his last days spoke 
of Penn as an able and sincere man, but wanting sadly 
in nerve and humor. "In six months," said Prentice, 
"I pelted him out of his senses and into a libel suit." It 
must have been terrible, indeed, upon Penn, and did 
finally drive him away from Louisville to St. Louis, 
where he died. Penn could say nothing — could not 
write a sentence — that Prentice did not seize upon it 
and turn it to his own account. Penn unguardedly 
speaks of "lying these cold mornings curled up in bed." 
Prentice retorts that "this proves what we've always 
said, that 'you lie like a dog.' " Penn comes back 
angrily with something about Prentice's setting up a 
"lie factory," to which Prentice rejoins, "if we ever do 
set up a lie factory, we will certainly swing you out for 
a sign." Penn says he has "found a rat-hole." Pren- 
tice says, "that will save you your next year's rent.'* 
Penn says he has met one of Prentice's statements 
squarely. "Yes," said Prentice, "by lying roundly." 
17 



The Compromises of Life 

Then Penn, wearied out, says he will have no 
more to do with Prentice. "Well," says Prentice, 
tauntingly, "if he is resolved to play dummy we will 
torture him no longer. We never could be cruel to 
dumb animals." Finally, when Penn was driven from 
the field. Prentice wrote: "The Advertiser of yesterday 
contained a long valedictory from Shadrach Penn, its 
late Editor. Shadrach, after a residence of twenty- 
three years in this city, goes to spend the rest of his life 
and lay his bones in St. Louis. Well, he has our best 
wishes for his prosperity. All the ill-will we ever had 
for him passed out long ago through our thumb and 
forefinger. His lot, hitherto, has been a most ungentle 
one, but we trust his life will prove akin to the plant 
that begins to blossom at the advanced age of half a 
century. May all be well with him here and hereafter! 
We should, indeed, be sorry if a poor fellow whom we 
have been torturing eleven years in this world should 
be passed over to the devil in the next." Rough joking 
this, but characteristic of the times. The Journal was 
crowded with it, along with a deal that was neither 
rough nor humorous. That, for example, was a neat 
reply to Dickens's complaint that at Louisville he was 
not able to find water enough to clean himself. "And 
the great Ohio River," said Prentice, "right at hand." 
And to the young lady who threatened to stamp on his 
paper: "She had better not; it has little eyes in it." 
i8 



George Dennison Prentice 

The sewing-girls of New York devoted one day to sew- 
ing for the benefit of the Polish exiles. Prentice said 
this was a beautiful instance ''of the needle turning to 
the pole," and Punch afterward appropriated the con- 
ceit. 

On his poems Prentice himself put no great account. 
They were thrown off idly. He wrote verses, he said, 
as a discipline, or for recreation. He did not stand 
"Up to the chin in the Rubicon flood." The best 
thing he did is perhaps the "Closing Year," which has 
many good lines and bold images, and will always be 
a favorite recitative. The "Lines on my Mother's 
Grave" and the "Lines to my Son" are also pathetic. 
I once heard Albert Pike recite the "Lines on my 
Mother's Grave," to a stag party in Washington, so 
touchingly that there was not a dry eye in the room. 
But, after all, the fame of Prentice must stand not upon 
any single piece of work which he did, but upon the 
purpose and influence of his whole life; its realization 
of every public demand; its adaptation to every party 
need ; its current readiness and force ; its thorough con- 
sistency from first to last. He did more for others and 
asked less for himself than any public man of his day. 
He put hundreds of men into office, but he was never a 
candidate for oflRce himself. He relied exclusively upon 
his newspaper, and by this agency alone rose to fame. 
Many young writers imagine that polish is a fine thing ; 
19 



The Compromises of Life 

and so it is. But polish without character is mere 
veneering. That which is really good in literature and 
journalism is that which is representative, the product of 
the spirit of the country or the time. Prentice was a 
perfect interpreter of his own times ; and when that is 
said we say of him what can only be said with truth of 
two or three of his contemporaries. His personality 
was diffusive as well as ardent. He had a temper vehe- 
ment and daring; but he held it under good control. 
Now that he is gone there is no one to succeed him; 
and I doubt whether, if it were possible, it would be 
safe to trust to another the power which, as far as he 
himself was concerned, he used so unselfishly and so 
sparingly. There was a time when the splendor of his 
fame was very captivating to me, as I dare say it was 
to thousands of other ambitious youths, particularly of 
the West and South. But you will believe me sincere 
when I tell you, paraphrasing the words of Tyndall 
upon Faraday, how lightly I hold the honor of being 
Prentice's successor compared with the honor of having 
been Prentice's friend. His friendship was energy and 
inspiration. His "mantle" is a burden I shall never 
pretend to carry. 

He lived out nearly the allotted span, having well- 
nigh reached the Psalmist's threescore years and ten. 
The joy of life was gone. He grew old of heart. Few 
of the dear ones remained to him, and those that did 
remain hardly belonged to his generation. 
20 



George Dennison Prentice 

"The mossy marbles rest 
On the lips that he has prest 

In their bloom; 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb." 



He was exasperated by the Beecher-Stowe Byron 
scandal, and wrote all the editorials that appeared in 
the Courier- Journal on that subject. Most of them he 
read to me, as was his habit when anything seriously in- 
terested him ; and I shall never forget how, reading one 
of them, he broke down once, twice, and finally alto- 
gether; his voice hoarse; his utterance tremulous; the 
tears raining down his cheek, when he arose silently 
and glided out of the room. It was not decrepitude. 
It was feeling; true feeling, too, for, excepting a few 
trifling exaggerations which marked his style of writ- 
ing when he was deeply moved, the article was vigor- 
ous and compact. 

Born in winter, he died in winter. He came in a 
gale which blew across the Eastern sea, and his life was 
borne out on the ebb of a mighty flood in the West. 
It was stormy, as we know, from the beginning to the 
end. I have described the place where he died as 
lonely. It was the home of his son, a farm-house just 
upon the water's edge. Mr. Prentice quitted the office 
on Christmas eve to go to the country to spend the holi- 
days. He was unusually well and cheerful. A few 

21 



The Compromises of Life 

days before he had prepared at my request and confided 
to my keeping a lengthy manuscript which he had writ- 
ten with his own hand. It is an autobiographic memo- 
randum of the leading dates and events of his life, and, 
though the writing must have been painful, it is neat 
and clear. He said gloomily on one occasion, "I hope 
you won't let me snuff out like a tallow candle," but he 
had no thought of "snuffing out" when he bought the 
Christmas presents for the little grandson. The rest 
came quickly, however, and may be told in a line. A 
cold ride of ten miles, an influenza, pneumonia, weeks 
of prostration. The deluge came during his illness. 
The river swelled out of its banks. The waters gath- 
ered around about, reaching the very door-sill. He lay 
in an upper chamber and could hear them moaning like 
echoes of his own regrets. He will hear them never 
more. He is beyond the fever and the worry and the 
fret and the tumult of this world. He is dead. 

He sleeps now in beautiful Cave Hill Cemetery, the 
Louisville place of burial, whither on the Monday after 
he died his remains were conducted with all the honor- 
ing circumstance and ceremony which the living can 
pay to the dead; and he lies by the side of the little 
family group that went before him. Happy reunion! 
How peaceful, tranquil, satisfying! How gently it 
seems to round and smooth the turmoil of a life, which, 
brilliant as it was, had its bitter sorrows and cares. I 
have given in another place a poem of Koerner which 
22 



George Dennison Prentice 

he was fond of, and recited sometimes. But I may 
repeat it here. It is somewhat autobiographical, and 
runs in this wise: 

"What though no maiden tears ever be shed 

O'er my clay bed ; 
Still will the generous night never refuse 

To weep her dews ; 
And though no friendly hand garland the cross 

Above my moss. 
Yet will the dear, dear moon tenderly shine 

Down on that sign ; 
And, though the passer-by songlessly pass 

Through the long grass; 
There will the noontide bee pleasantly hum 

And warm winds come ; 
Yes, you at least, ye dells, meadows and streams, 

Stars and moon-beams. 
Will think on him whose weak, meritless lays 

Teemed with your praise!" 

The music sounds like his own. He was himself a 
poet of the fields, the skies, the flowers, "the dells, 
meadows and streams, stars and moon-beams." 

Perhaps no man was ever followed to the grave by a 
more touching demonstration of public interest. Few 
men ever lived who inspired so much personal sympathy. 
There was in his faults something that took hold of the 
popular fancy; and he united in himself three elements 
at least that never fail to exert a powerful influence 
among the people. He was brilliant, brave, and gen- 
erous. He was an intellectual match for any man. He 
23 



The Compromises of Life 

was physically and mentally afraid of no man. He 
gave bountifully to all comers. There was buried 
within him a superb nature, and his death for a moment 
lights up the vestibule in which he is placed by the side 
of three famous friends of his, making a group which 
will always be the pride and glory of this country. 

Clay, Crittenden, Marshall, and Prentice. They 
were contemporaries in stirring times ; and it is much to 
say of Prentice that he borrowed no light from them, 
but that he let the glow and sparkle of his genius fall 
upon their lives, and that they were brighter for it. 
They are contemporaries once more in the radiance of 
the everlasting. The statesman whose genius for com- 
promise so long deferred the day of wrath ; the senator, 
who gave the last effort of a noble life to avert the long- 
impending strife of sections; the orator, w^ho might 
have vied with either, and was his own worst enemy; 
the journalist, who helped launch a party against the 
winds and currents, and was its steadiest and truest 
pilot as long as a single battered fragment tossed upon 
the waters — all are gone now, and stand, side by side, 
peers in the Court of last resort. Prentice rests in a 
quiet spot, where the violets which he loved to sing, 
and the meadow-grass, that grew greener in his song, 
shall presently come and grow above him; where the 
stars which he made into a thousand images shall shine 
by night; where the quiet skies that gave the kindliest 
joy to his old age shall bend over his grave. He is 
24 



George Dennison Prentice 

dead to a world of love and pity and homage. But so 
long as there Is a gravestone upon that hillside, so long 
as there is a newspaper printed in the beautiful Anglo- 
Saxon tongue, which he understood so well, and wrote 
so well, the descendants of this generation, alike from 
near and far, will seek out curiously and piously the 
place where they laid him. The man is dead. But 
Prentice is not dead. 



25 



II 

LECTURES 



27 



THE COMPROMISES OF LIFE* 

It is given out by those who have investigated the 
subject, and who think they have got at the facts, that 
the earth which we inhabit is round. I shall take this 
for granted, therefore, and observe that its movement 
is rotary. Hogarth's line of beauty and grace repre- 
sents a simple, serpentine curve. The rainbow of 
hope and promise is semicircular. The broad surface 
of the ocean, stretching away as far as eye can see in 
calm or storm — a dream of peace or a nightmare of 
horrors — is one vast oval of wave and sky. And life, 
which we are told is rounded by a sleep, must conform 
to nature's laws, or beat itself against the walls within 
whose rugged circumference nature dwells, for, as nat- 
ure abhors a vacuum, so she detests an angle, particu- 
larly in ideas, engineering, and women. 

It is well to walk in a straight line, but the man who 
piques himself upon doing this, looking neither back- 
ward nor forward, nor to the right nor the left, is 
likely after a while to strike something, and, unless his 
heart is of stone, or iron, be sure it will not be the 
obstruction that yields the right of way. 
* 1894. 
29 



The Compromises of Life 

Thackeray once wrote a queer little essay entitled "A 
Plea for Shams." It was merely a protest against 
brute literalism and an appeal for what certain cynics 
used to call French courtesy. 

"Tell only the truth," exclaims the adage, "but do 
not always tell the truth," which means that we are 
not obliged to tell all we know merely because we 
know it and it is true. "Who gives this woman away?" 
says the clergyman in the half-empty, dim-lighted 
church. "I could," whispers a voice away down the 
darkling aisle. "I could, but I won't," a very sensible 
conclusion, as we must all allow. 

I am to talk to you this evening about the Com- 
promises of Life. That means that I am to talk to you 
about a great many things connected with the journey 
'twixt Dan and Beersheba; for, as I have said, the 
world we live in is a compromise with warring elements 
and the Government we support is a compromise with 
conflicting interests, while life, itself, is but a com- 
promise with death. If each man and each woman on 
our planet took the law into their hands, and stood for 
their individual, inalienable, abstract rights, resolved 
to have their will, or die, the result might vindicate 
the everlasting verities, but it would ultimately leave 
mankind and womankind in the position of the two 
feline controversialists who are supposed to have argued 
out their differences to a logical conclusion in the good 
County Kilkenny, some centuries ago. Happily, it is 
30 



The Compromises of Life 

otherwise. Reasonable people take their cue from nat- 
ure, whose law is live and let live, and, as a conse- 
quence, we have love and marriage, trade and barter, 
politics and parties, banks and babies, railroads and 
funerals, courts of equity and churches and jails, all 
regulated by a system of time-tables arranged some- 
where beyond the stars and moving toward that shore- 
less ocean which we call eternity, and which will pres- 
ently engulf us every one. 

You will, I dare say, think me both paradoxical and 
heterodoxical when I declare to you that Truth is 
sometimes a great liar, that is to say that that may be 
true to the letter which is false to the spirit, and, vice 
versa; Truth, made by malice and cunning to serve the 
purpose of the basest wrong. On the other hand, 
there are certain lies, which we call white lies, because 
they are meant to do no ill, or mischief, but the 
rather are intended to spare sensibilities and to save 
trouble. Often they do neither ; not infrequently they 
aggravate both. There is no one among us, I am sure, 
who has not had occasion to lament the miscarriage of 
some honest, amiable fiction, contrived as we thought 
most ingeniously to prevent White from knowing just 
what Black said, or did, and for putting everybody in a 
good humor. The angel who takes account of these 
things may sigh over them, though I fancy in the end, 
as was observed of Uncle Toby, he will blot them off his 
book with a tear ; because, after all, they are only com- 
31 



The Compromises of Life 

promises between fact and fancy, whose roots, spring- 
ing from love, or pity, have been watered by human 
kindness. 

A quaint old friend of mine, whose copious draughts 
from the well of English picturesque were only equalled 
by his great integrity of character and goodness of 
heart, met a lady acquaintance at an evening party, 
and the conversation turned upon real estate, in which 
the two had considerable interest. 

"Mrs. Grundy," says my friend, "you shorely didn't 
sell that lot o' your'n on Preston Street for five hundred 
dollars?" 

The lady said she certainly had. 

"Why, bless me," says my friend, "you could a* got 
six hundred for it!" 

Next day the lady's agent called on my friend, offer- 
ing an exact duplicate of the lot in question and de- 
manding the advance price, according to the terms of 
the conversation of the previous evening. 

"Why, bless me," exclaimed my friend, "did I tell 
her that? Dear, dear! Why, I was only a-enter- 
tainin' of her !" 

This was the gentleman who, being asked on the 
witness-stand how he made his living, naively replied: 
"A-going of security and a-paying of the debt." 

In neither of these instances was he strictly accurate; 
and yet, I venture to believe that, in that land where 
he long ago went to make his home forever, he has paid 
32 



The Compromises of Life 

whatever penalty was fixed on the harmless compro- 
mises which his amiability sometimes made with the 
ruder things of this world. 

In short, life, which is full enough of corners, every 
corner having it briers and brambles, would be unen- 
durable if people always yielded to the impulse of the 
moment, and nothing to good sense and good feeling, 
blurting out the truth just as the humor seized them. 

The truth to-day is not always the truth to-morrow. 
Each day is a kaleidoscope, changing its forms and fig- 
ures with every hour, from grave to gay, from lively to 
severe, from morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve, and 
he is the wisest who makes the most happiness, who 
inflicts least suffering, and, if now and then he has to 
throw a few flowers over a waste place here and there 
to lure some poor soul into the illusion that it is a gar- 
den, who shall speak the word that wakes the spell and 
spoils the conceit? Not I, indeed, for I firmly believe 
that 

"Where ignorance is bliss, 
'Tis folly to be wise." 

Since that unlucky misundertanding betw^een Adam 
and Eve in the Garden of Eden which proved so disas- 
trous to both of them, and some of whose consequences 
you and I are still discharging through love's clearing- 
house, there has been quite a rivalry between the man 
and the woman each to get a little the better of the 
33 



The Compromises of Life 

other. You will remember that, most ungallantly, most 
ungraciously, and, I must add, most imprudently, Adam 
sought to cast the entire burden of blame in the matter 
of the apple upon Eve. In point of fact, he turned 
State's evidence. Well, from that day to this. Eve 
has been making a play to square the account with 
Adam, and, as a result, Adam has had much the 
worst of it. 

On a certain bleak winter night, when, quite numb 
with cold, he has left his boots in the hall below, and 
slipped off his outer garments at the bedroom door, he 
enters cautiously, gropes his way to the bedside, and, 
satisfying himself the wife is asleep, he begins to rock 
the cradle, first gently, then with greater energy. At 
last, when he is nearly frozen, and wholly nonplussed 
by the profoundness of the slumber of his better half, 
a sleepy voice, in which he fancies he detects a faint 
gurgle of irrelevant mirth, exclaims : "Oh, come to bed 
— the baby isn't in that cradle!" On another occa- 
sion, an old friend of mine was going home at one of 
the "wee short hours ayont the twal'," accompanied by 
a young journalist, who, of course, had to keep late 
hours — all journalists do so, you know — and when 
they had reached the point where their paths diverged 
the elder said to the younger: "What in the world shall 
I say when I get home ?" And the younger, some three 
years married, replied, with ready resource and cheerful- 
ness: "Be assured, my dear Isaac, it is much best to speak 
34 



The Compromises of Life 

the truth. I shall go at once and waken my wife, and 
frankly tell her the press broke down !" 

It is much best to speak the truth ! Yes, but I think 
it would be best of all if Adam and Eve came to some 
understanding about these matters; if they reached 
some mutual agreement; if they compromised them, so 
to say. 

"And these few precepts, son-in-law," observed an 
over-facetious paterfamilias at breakfast the day after 
the wedding, "when you get off with the boys and play 
the noble game, quit when you have lost what you can 
afford, go home and tell Maria, and it will be all right. 
If you drink a drop too much, realize it, go home to 
Maria, who will bathe your brow, and it will be all 
right. But on one point, dear son-in-law, let me ad- 
monish you. Where there is a woman you lie! In 
order that in some moment of effusion, or inebriety, you 
may not by chance slip your trolley and tell the truth, 
accustom yourself to lying!" 

The woman is in perpetual fear of the man*s nature ; 
not his natural wickedness, or depravity; but his re- 
dundant vitality, exposed to the temptations that 
habitually assail it. And well she may be. Well for 
him, well for her, well for us all. A world of wild 
beasts we should become, except for her restraining 
moral force, her exquisite sense of good and evil, her 
tenderness and love. We make jokes at her expense. 
We rally and tease her. 

35 



The Compromises of Life 

" Ah, gentle dames, it ga's me greet. 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthened, sage advices, 
The husband fra the wife despises!" 

And, half amused, yet half afraid and half ashamed, 
we picture her 

" Gathering her brows like gathering storm. 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm." 

But "for a' that and a' that," we, too, know where to 
draw the line, and we do draw it — every mother's son 
of us who is worth salt enough to pickle him — at love 
and duty, at the home, the shrine where love and duty 
meet, to sing on earth the song of the angels in Heaven. 

But let us not grow sentimental. Having drawn 
the line, let us draw the curtain. AfiFection compro- 
mises all things. It is where there is no love, out, out 
upon the storm-laden ocean of life — in the world of 
affairs, where men meet in furious contention, where 
the play of The Rivals is not a comedy, but a tragedy, 
where all is strife — commercial, political — avarice play- 
ing at hide-and-seek with honor, and expediency pour- 
ing lies into the pliant ear of ambition — every man for 
himself, the devil to get the hindmost — each tub to 
stand on its own bottom — it is here where the shoe 
pinches, here that good men, great men, know the true 
need and meaning of tolerance, the God-like wisdom of 
the spirit of compromise. 

36 



The Compromises of Life 

Of what value were Jay Gould's millions — of what 
value a single one of his dollars — if over and beyond 
his wants a penny was gained at the cost of the blood 
and tears of one good man or woman ? Of what value 
were Napoleon's victories? But, stay! Let me relate 
a parable, a fable with a moral, which might have 
happened any time these years of wondrous, romantic 
achievement upon the modern arena of battle — our field 
of the cloth of gold — the Stock Exchange. 

A young man of four or five and twenty, poorly clad, 
much under the average height, eyes deep-sunken and 
of piercing blackness, thin, pale lips, wanders vacantly, 
restlessly, about this Stock Exchange. He roams in 
and out of its galleries like a caged lion. He gazes 
wistfully over the balconies into the seething pit below. 
He sees men pushing, hauling, howling, money-mad. 
Day in and day out the same ; always the same ; though 
not for him. But, why not? Why not? He knows no 
one who could secure him access there. He has not a 
dollar, even if he could obtain access. And yet he has 
evolved out of the darkness and desolation that sur- 
round him a secret which, if he had the opportunity and 
the means of applying it, would yield him mill- 
ions. 

Accident throws this young man into the society of 

a young woman nearly as poor as himself, but beautiful 

and bright and noble. He loves her. She loves him. 

In the confidence of that love he discloses his secret to 

37 



The Compromises of Life 

her. She h'stens, amazed, delighted. When he has 
finished his recital she exclaims : 

"Why, with this astonishing knowledge, how comes 
it you are in rags?" 

**Alas," says he, "I have not a penny in the world. 
I have not a friend in the world. With a knowledge 
that has power to revolutionize the fiscal universe, I 
am as helpless, hopeless as a child !" 

This woman is a woman of genius. She is a woman 
of action. She seizes the situation with the instinct of 
her nature. 

"Why," she exclaims, "I have very little money; but 
you need very little. Take it. I know the President 
of the Stock Exchange. I will introduce you to him. 
He will introduce you upon the floor. You, and this 
wondrous discovery of yours, will do the rest." 

He falls upon his knees. He clasps her in his arms. 
He will go and get his millions. He will make her his 
wife — nay, they will be married at once — they will not 
delay a moment, because before to-morrow*s day and 
night are over they will be rich, famous, and will live 
forever happy, loving one another and doing good all 
the rest of their days. 

They are married. She is true to her word. He is 
true to his. He appears in the midst of that mad 
throng — this strange little man with the miraculous 
secret. No one observes him ; no one divines his secret ; 
only the President of the Stock Exchange, to whom 
38 



The Compromises of Life 

he has been presented, and who has admitted him to 
the floor, has a friendly eye upon him. But his lines 
laid and, his little all upon them, that awful secret 
begins to work like magic. A thousand dollars is 
quickly ten thousand, ten thousand a hundred thousand, 
a hundred thousand a million, a million fifty millions, 
and, amid the crash of fortunes and the fury of such a 
tempest as the world never knew before, the President 
comes down from his seat, and the young, the veritable 
young Napoleon of finance, is personally made known 
to the money kings and princes, some of whom he has 
ruined, others of whom he has crippled, and all of 
whom he has brought to his feet ! 

And the woman who has enabled him to do all this ? 
Oh, she has been in the gallery up there. She has seen 
it all. First frightened, then appalled, then delirious 
with joy, she has watched every turn of the wheel and 
known what turned it and who. The day is hardly 
half over. But the battle Is fought and won. She 
bids him come — come to the arms of a loving wife — 
come to the rest of a happy home — come, with riches, 
honors, all that fortune can give to man, e'en to that 
blessed peace that passeth understanding. Oh, no. He 
Is not going to do anything of the kind. He has only 
ruined half the Stock Exchange. He Is going back 
to ruin the other half. Ah, well — what would you 
say of that man if, going back to ruin the other half, 
he lost all he had gained. Including his original stake, 
39 



The Compromises of Life 

and found himself at midnight, his mystery exploded 
and his fair yoimg bride lying dead there before him, 
dead of grief and despair? What would you say if he 
found himself alone, abandoned and locked safely and 
forever in prison walls? 

You know the story of Napoleon. It is related by 
Metternich that during that famous interview at Dres- 
den, that lasted, without food or interruption, from 
eight in the morning till eight at night, he, represent- 
ing the Allied Powers, offered Napoleon peace with a 
larger France than he had found, and the confirmation 
of his dynasty, and that Napoleon refused it. He 
wanted all or nothing. He was going to ruin the other 
half. So he rushed upon Austria, and England, and 
Russia — ^who were still able to stand against him — and 
Waterloo — and before the day was over he found him- 
self a General without an army, an Emperor without 
a throne, flying for his life, to be caught and locked up 
like the ill-starred, unthinking, though brilliant, ad- 
venturer that he was. He had lost all, including his 
original stake — 

" He fought, and half the world was his, 
He died without a rood his own ; 
And borrowed of his enemies 
Six foot of ground to lie upon." 

Do you not think he had better have compromised 
with the Powers before it was too late? I do, and, 
standing, as I have often stood, beneath that lofty dome 
40 



The Compromises of Life 

in the Hospital of the Invalides in Paris, and looking 
down into that marble crypt upon the wondrous tomb 
below, and conceiving the glory meant to be there cele- 
brated it has seemed to me a kind of gilded hell, with a 
sleeping devil, planned by fiends incarnate to lure men, 
and particularly French men, to perdition. And I 
never leave that place, with its dreary splendor, that 
somehow the words of a poor, ragged French poet do 
not come singing into my heart : 

" Oh, if I were Queen of France, 

Or still better Pope of Rome, 
I'd have no fighting men abroad. 

No weeping maids at home ; 
All the world should be at peace. 

And if Kings must show their might, 
Let those who make the quarrels 

Be the only ones to fight." 

I would compromise war. I would compromise 
glory. I would compromise everything at that point 
where hate comes in, where misery comes in, where 
love ceases to be love and life begins its descent in the 
shadow of the valley of death. 

I would not compromise Truth. I would not com- 
promise the Right. I would not compromise con- 
science and conviction in any matter of pith and mo- 
ment involving real duty. There are times when one 
must stand and fight, when one must fight and die. 
But such times are exceptional; they are most excep- 
41 



The Compromises of Life 

tional; one cannot without making himself ridiculous 
be always wrapping the flag around him and marching 
down to the foot-lights, to display his extraordinary 
valor and virtue. And, in the long intervals, how 
often the best of us are mistaken as to what is Truth, 
as to what is Right, as to what is Duty. Too often 
they are what we would have them to be. Too often 
that which we want to do becomes that which we 
ought to do. 

It will hardly be denied by those who know me that 
I have opinions and adhere to them with some steadi- 
ness. On occasions I am afraid that I have expressed 
them with too great plainness and positivity, and too 
little regard to the opinions of others. Well, there 
are moments when the thought comes to my mind that 
the other fellow, who doesn't agree with me or my 
opinions, may not be such a bad fellow after all ; maybe 
both of us are right; maybe neither of us; for, in the 
end, how rarely things come round just as they were 
planned; yet still the world goes jogging along, pre- 
cisely as if you and I did not live in it. 

Why should neighbors, who ought to be friends and 
brothers, quarrel about transactions that can never pen- 
etrate their roof-tree's shade? Why should differences 
about public affairs a thousand miles away make pri- 
vate enmities at home? I am sure I never loved any 
man less because he did not agree with me. I may think 
him a fool — of course — and tell him so — If he isn't a 
42 



The Compromises of Life 

bigger man than I am, or, better, if he is one of those 
big-hearted creatures who will only laugh at me — but 
I shall not question either his motive or his sincerity. 
Those are his prerogatives, as they are mine, and, if I 
think him a fool, there is no law compelling me to keep 
his company; only I do keep it all the same, because, 
somehow, in spite of our occasional tiffs, we just natu- 
rally love one another, and, kneeling by the bedside of 
a sick child, or standing before the grave of a dead 
comrade, how mean and paltry seem the discussions we 
had about bimetallism and monometallism, and high 
tariff and low tariff, and the line! What is Lilly 
O'Killarney, the Hawaiian maiden from Blarney Cas- 
tle, what is she to me, or I to her, that I should weep 
for her? What is it to you whether raw sugar be on 
the dutiable list, or free? To us in Kentucky now — 
who always take sugar in ours — but that is a mere 
quibble of words, and I will not pursue the theme ! 

Thank God we live in a free land. It is every 
man's business to believe something, or to fancy that he 
does. It is every man's duty to vote, and he ought to 
vote according as he thinks, or as he thinks he is think- 
ing. That makes what we call politics. That makes 
what we call parties. They are the glory of free in- 
stitutions. And then, after we have finished voting as 
we thought we were thinking, we disperse to our sev- 
eral homes, leaving a huddle of gentlemen, who pass as 
our representatives, to go to Washington. We call 
43 



The Compromises of Life 

them politicians. They call themselves statesmen. 
We pay them — though not very adequately — to run 
the Government. Weil, they go to Washington and 
they run it — the Government — and, if they don't suit 
— and they generally don't — w^e turn them out and 
send others to take their places, and so on ad infinitum. 
And thus wt keep up free America, permeated by free 
institutions and free ideas, and a free, but sometimes a 
ribald press. 

Now and then, w^e get a man at Washington w^ho is 
clever enough to stay there a long, long time; and he 
becomes a leader; a great leader; a great Republican 
leader; or a great Democratic leader; he know^s his 
business ; but, in reality, he has lost his identity ; for you 
just follow^ any tw^o of these leaders, after they have 
fought that sham battle on the floor w^hich has so 
edified their constituents in the gallery — you just 
follow^ them dow^nstairs or upstairs, and see how^ snugly 
they take their cold tea together ; they have been there 
so long that they understand one another ; they under- 
stand one another too vs^ell, perhaps ; they actually love 
one another ; they are obliged to ; they know^ too much ; 
they could not afford anything else. They, at least, 
have learned hovi^ to compromise everything except their 
seats in Congress. 

But if it be wise to agree to disagree one with an- 
other about the affairs of this world toward the deter- 
mination of which no one of us has more than his sin- 
44 



The Compromises of Life 

gle vote, why should we grow angry and dispute about 
the affairs of the world to come, toward the determina- 
tion of which no one of us has any vote at all ? 

I cannot rid myself of the impression that there are 
many roads leading to Heaven. To be sure, I know 
nothing about it, actually, and, as a matter of fact, 
because I have never been there; though I have some- 
times thought I might be, and have always nursed the 
hope that I was on the way. But what way? Well, 
I have had some advantages. I was born in the Presby- 
terian Church, baptized in the Catholic Church, edu- 
cated in the Episcopal Church, and married into the 
Church of the Disciples. I came so near being made 
a Doctor of Divinity once that it took the interposition 
of two bishops and a school-master to limit the investi- 
ture to that of Common Law. I do not think myself 
wanting in seriousness as to religion, or sincerity of 
allegiance to that sublime faith which has come to us 
from Calvary. But, for the life of me, I have never 
had it in my heart to hate any human being because he 
chose to worship God according to his conscience. 

Perusing the story of the dark ages, when men were 
burnt at the stake for the heresy of refusing to bow to 
the will of the majority, it is not the voice of the 
Protestant or Catholic that issues from the flames and 
reaches my heart, but the cry of suffering man, my 
brother! To me a saint is a saint, whether he wears 
wooden shoes, or goes barefoot; whether he gets his 
45 



The Compromises of Life 

baptism out of a font of holy water blessed by the 
Church of his adoration, or whether, dripping from 
head to heels, he comes up from the waters of Jordan 
shouting the hallelujah of his forefathers! From my 
very boyhood the persecution of man for opinion's sake 
— no matter for what opinion's sake — has aroused 
within me the only devil I have ever personally known. 
When I was a child, some six or seven years old, I 
had an experience which has pursued me through life 
and whose impressions have colored all my after- 
thoughts. I was spending the winter with my grand- 
parents. My grandfather was a Southern planter. 
He was the owner of a great plantation. He was mas- 
ter of many slaves. Among these slaves was Isaac, a 
likely young fellow, who was good to me, and carried 
me afield in the early mornings and told me stories by 
the cabin log-heap in the evenings, and became, accord- 
ing to the fashion of those times, my Uncle Isaac. 
One day my Uncle Isaac was ordered by the Overseer 
to be whipped for some peccadillo. I did not under- 
stand the meaning of what was going forward, but I 
watched with serious, childlike interest. The man 
was brought out and bound, the Overseer standing ex- 
pectant, brandishing that dreadful weapon of his. My 
Uncle Isaac looked at me. He looked at me in a poor, 
weak, beseeching way. Then I realized it all. I 
went straight up to the Overseer and put forth my 
little plea. The Overseer was a Legree. There 

46 



The Compromises of Life 

stood his victim, and he was not to be deprived of his 
prey. The lash w^as raised v^7ith one hand while I was 
held back with the other. Then the devil I spoke of 
just now, or, was it some Angel? inspired me with 
superhuman strength. I bit the brute's hands till they 
bled, I scratched his face as he lifted me in his arms to 
set me out of reach, I screamed like one distraught. 
For half a minute I was more than that giant's match. 
At last they bore me away and locked me up in an 
upper chamber, where I ran about shrieking and beating 
upon the doors and windows. I can still see the dark 
green of the closed shutters. I can still hear that black 
man's cries. But there were no more whippings while 
I remained on that plantation. My grandfather was 
so impressed that he made me a deed of gift to my 
Uncle Isaac, and, afterward, when I grew toward man- 
hood, I gave him his freedom. He fell upon the field 
of battle wearing a blue uniform, and that's the only 
"nigger" I ever owned, thank God! But that early 
shock set me a lesson in the true relation of human 
freedom to despotic power, which has abided with me 
ever since, branching out in every direction where I 
have thought I saw the strong lording it over the weak, 
whether by pressure of the mailed hand, or the mere 
force of numbers. As a consequence, I have spent the 
greater part of my life in the minority and in opposi- 
tion ! 

Near the upper end of the Lake of Geneva, in 
47 



The Compromises of Life 

Switzerland, there is a famous old castle. Seen from 
the lake, it is an incongruous white pile of towers and 
gables and bastions. But it will repay the tourist to 
go ashore and to cross the drawbridge which admits 
him to an inner and nearer view. Even in this practi- 
cal and enlightened age, when dungeons no longer 
yawn to swallow the helpless and racks are no more 
raised to torment the proscribed, and when they who 
are freest seem least to be jealous and proud of their 
freedom, it is impossible for any thoughtful man to 
come here and to stand within these walls, and to go 
away again without having his love of liberty refreshed 
and his detestation for oppression renewed, for it was 
here that the patriot Bonnivard passed seventeen 
years, chained to one of the stone pillars of the Castle 
keep, suggesting the motive for Byron's immortal poem, 
"The Prisoner of Chillon." 

In this light, the Castle of Chillon becomes at once 
a fortress and a shrine, from which there is as little 
chance of escape for free and loving hearts to-day as 
during the long, dark night of its blood and terror 
there was for its victims. 

You are shown the Star Chamber, which they called 
The Hall of Justice. You pass into the torture-room, 
and behold its cruel, horrible implements. You de- 
scend the narrow, winding stairway into the Vesti- 
bule of Executions. On the one hand is the stone bed 
on which the condemned spent their last night upon 



The Compromises of Life 

earth, and, on the other, the dungeon reserved for 
those who were not given the happiness to die. And 
there — just before you in the wall — next to the lake — 
is the casement through which they slid the bodies of 
the slain. 

You enter the dungeon. It is just as Byron describes 
it in his poem. The seven columns are there, and the 
scant clefts in the rocks which admit a little sunlight. 
Upon three of the columns still hang the iron rings 
that held the chains that fastened the prisoners. 
Around the column to which Bonnivard was chained 
for seventeen years appear the marks worn by his foot- 
steps, and, just above them — carved by himself — his 
name in rude letters, and close by it the names of 
Byron and Victor Hugo. They are all gone now, the 
hero of the fourteenth century, the singers of the nine- 
teenth ; contemporaries at last before the eternal throne ; 
but from those letters that repeat their names there 
rings out from the rocks a voice that seems to irradiate 
the gloom and to echo round the globe. 

" Chillon! Thy prison is a holy place! 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod 
Until the very steps have left a trace, 

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod 
By Bonnivard ! May none these marks efface, 

For they appeal from tyranny to God !" 

I have seen worse places, ranker, darker, fouler places, 
but never one more hideous in its suggestiveness, be- 
49 



The Compromises of Life 

cause, the story of Bonnivard and the poem of Byron 
apart, therein Is concentrated and typified all that was 
brutal in feudalism, all that was cruel in bigotry, all 
that was heroic in resistance. They did not know any- 
thing about the compromises of life in those days. 
Might alone was right, and the axe, the gibbet, and the 
stake were the arguments which power relied on to 
carry forward its campaigns of education and reform. 

I have said that the Government under which we 
live is a compromise between conflicting interests. It 
is less so now than it once was, but it must always rest 
upon the basis of compromise, and, assuredly, except for 
many compromises in the beginning, it would never 
have existed at all. 

No one can read the story of the struggle for free- 
dom in America without an awe-struck sense of the 
presence of God's hand from first to last. 

The long debate between loyalty and liberty was 
vexed by painful doubts of what was right and what 
was wrong, and the resort to arms was full of practical 
difficulties. The Colonies were not all alike, nor were 
they of one mind. They were but sparse communities, 
lying wide apart. They were scattered along the At- 
lantic seaboard. There were no railways, or telegraph ; 
and the voice of old Samuel Adams in Massachusetts 
could not reach the ears of young Thomas JefJerson 
in Virginia even through the medium of that spiritual 
telephone, which, they knew not how, or why, made 
50 



The Compromises of Life 

their hearts to beat together. But the unseen hand of 
God was there to point the way; He assembled the 
Continental Congress ; wrote the sublime Declaration ; 
summoned armies into the field and placed Washington 
at their head; and, against incredible odds, internal 
and external, he won a battle that was to emancipate 
millions. 

The trial did not end here. 

When the Revolutionary War was over a nation had 
still to be formed ; and here again the hand of God in 
the work of forging a government amid a chaos and of 
framing a Constitution out of the insubstantial fabrics 
of the patriot's dream of liberty. They came, these 
nation-makers, with the blessing of God upon them, and 
what they could not agree upon they compromised. If 
they had not, who shall tell the altered course of his- 
tory? I tremble to think what the world might be 
to-day, except for the spirit of patriotic and reasonable 
concession which brought Madison and Jay and Ham- 
ilton together in the advocacy of a plan of government 
entirely acceptable to no one of them. They compro- 
mised some things which gave infinite trouble to their 
descendants. They left open to double construction 
some things which afterward led the way to a great 
war of sections, imperilling the good they had done 
their country in the making of the Constitution as well 
as the good that had been done to man in the Declara- 
tion of Independence and the War of the Revolution. 
SI 



The Compromises of Life 

What then ? Why, they dug the foundations of human 
freedom broad and deep; they laid the foundations of 
popular government high and strong; and the proof is 
that here it is this blessed moment, a monument of the 
wisdom of those compromises which are made in faith 
and love, for God's sake and for man's sake. 

I have lived through an epoch of sore travail. I was 
born in the national capital and grew to manhood there. 
I was brought into close, personal contact with the men 
who made disunion possible. I saw the struggle to 
save the Union; and the struggle to destroy it. I saw 
the good men of the North and the good men of the 
South bravely, nobly join heart and hand to maintain 
the compromises on which the Union rested. I saw 
those compromises one by one sink beneath the waves 
of sectional bitterness, artfully stimulated, and partisan 
interest, craftily pointed. I knew the secret springs of 
personal ambition which were playing upon the popular 
credulity, and lashing it into a frenzy. As one of the 
day's reporters for the Associated Press, I stood by the 
side of Lincoln when he delivered his first inaugural 
address, and as I looked out over that vast throng of 
assembled Americans, wrought to fury by the passions 
of the time, I knew that it meant war ; and I thought 
the heart within me, boy's that it was, would break, 
for I loved my country, its glorious traditions, its 
glorious Union, its incalculable uses to liberty and 
humanity. 

52 



The Compromises of Life 

There was no sunshine in the heavens. There was 
no verdure on the hills. All seemed lost. Hate and 
strife ruled the hour; and, one side as resolute as the 
other, the dove took her flight from earth, leaving the 
raven in her nest. 

But all was not lost. God was with us even then, 
though we did not see Him, and He builded wiser than 
we knew, because are we not here this night, proud and 
happy, our Republic stronger than ever it was, all the 
old contentions settled, the monster of slavery gone for- 
ever, the monster of secession gone forever, our Gov- 
ernment the marvel of the ages, rescued from every 
assault which has menaced and shattered feudal mon- 
archies and dynasties ; the flag flying at last as Webster 
would have had it fly, bearing upon its ample folds, as 
it floats over the land and the sea, those words, dear to 
every American heart, union and liberty, now and for- 
ever, one and inseparable! All was not lost, though 
perilously near it. 

As I go back from the age of achievement in which 
we live, to the age of experiment from which we 
emerged — tracing the early footsteps of the pathfinders 
— noting how some faltered and some fell by the way — 
how some doubted and passed to the rear — how, even 
Gouverneur Morris, the beau sabreur of liberty, and 
Timothy Pickering, its shield-and-buckler, and Josiah 
Quincy, its very torch, goaded by a mistaken sense of 
wrong, as later on the leaders of the South were lured 
53 



The Compromises of Life 

by an economic fallacy, into the quagmire of secession- — 
one colossal figure rises before me. From 1820, when 
over the admission of Missouri to Statehood the slavery 
question began its checkered career of strife and blood, 
to 1850, v^^hen the sections seemed to have arrived at a 
definite understanding, the great heart and firm hand 
of Henry Clay, supported by his irresistible personality, 
held the scales so true in the balance that neither ex- 
tremist could get in his work of disintegration. Even 
Calhoun was forced to alight from his high horse and 
to yield, under the guise of a compromise, the case 
of South Carolina. Even Jackson, Clay's relentless 
enemy, was obliged to sign Clay's compromise Tariff 
Act as part of the price of his own Force Bill. 

1 am a Free Trader in the sense that I believe 
the Government has no right either constitutional or 
equitable to levy and collect a dollar of taxation except 
for its own support, while Mr. Clay was a Protection- 
ist and the father of a protective system which I think, 
and have always thought, fallacious as an economic 
policy, both oppressive and unjust as a method of rais- 
ing revenue; but, when I recall the crises of 1820, of 
1832-33, and of 1850, theories of taxation sink into in- 
significance before the transcendent issue of the national 
integrity, until, losing sight of the Protectionist, I stand 
reverent in the presence of the Unionist. 

I once heard Mr. Fillmore relate that on a certain 
occasion Mr. Webster had said to him, "Fillmore, I 
54 



The Compromises of Life 

like Clay — I very muCh regard Clay — ^but he rides 

rough, d d rough." Yet Clay's was the genius of 

compromise which actually piloted the sections away 
from secession and war during forty years of national 
development, making the final resort to arms so unequal 
as to be futile. I am prouder of being a Kentuckian 
because Clay was a Kentuckian, prouder of my Virginia 
pedigree because Clay was born in Virginia. He came 
into the world a peace-maker — one of those peace-mak- 
ers who would have peace if he had to fight for it — 
dominancy so fused with conciliation, so reasonable, and 
sagacious, as to inspire admiration while it compelled 
obedience. More truly even than Webster was he an 
American; the antitype, as he was the file-leader, of 
Lincoln, whom Grady not inaptly designated "the first 
typical American." 

I never saw him, never heard his voice, never took 
his hand — though I have passed many happy hours be- 
neath the roof of his Ashland, and carry in priceless 
estimation the memory of the loved ones there — for 
notwithstanding that I grew up in Washington and 
was old enough to understand something of public men 
and affairs when he died, mine was the Democrat, not 
the Whig camp, and in those days party lines were 
already inexorable. A very young man, a student of 
letters — indeed, as I may say with the young ladies in 
"The Vicar of Wakefield," "of Shakespeare and the 
musical glasses" — and quite a walking arsenal of 
55 



The Compromises of Life 

audacity and misinformation, I was disparaging Mr. 
Clay, whose speeches did not read up to their reputa- 
tion, in favor of Mr. Webster, whose sonorous rhetoric 
had captivated me, when my father, an old-line, dyed- 
in-the-wool Jackson Democrat, interposed to rebuke 
my unguarded loquacity. "My son," said he, ''this is 
not the first time I have heard you express those opin- 
ions. They discredit nobody but yourself. I don't 
care how Mr. Clay's speeches read, or what you think 
of him; he was the greatest orator I ever heard, a 
patriot, and a born leader, a veritable king of men." 
Those who remember the Old Fogy, and my relations 
to him, need not be told that I subsided at once. But, 
as I have grown older in years, and, may I not hope, 
a little in wisdom and grace — as I have come to realize 
in the practical business both of politics and life — both 
of the fireside and the forum — what it means to give 
and take — particularly to endure — the clearer do I see, 
the more do I reverence the character and the genius of 
our backwoods Chatham, our homespun Commoner, 
our incomparable Harry of the West, with his master- 
ful spirit, his undoubting, indefatigable patriotism, his 
great, good heart. 

I never think of Mr. Clay that I do not think of 
Mr. Blaine. It will be a solace to me in my old age, 
in case I am vouchsafed an old age, to recall the cir- 
cumstance that, enjoying a sufficient intimacy with that 
eminent man to know him well — to have a direct per- 

56 



The Compromises of Life 

sonal knowledge of his affairs — that no heat, or fric- 
tion, of party interest or passion, could in high party 
times swerve me from doing justice to his public and 
private worth. Like Clay he was a parliamentary 
chieftain of talents unsurpassed; like Clay, of resistless 
personal charm; like Clay, the victim of a baseless, 
shameful calumny. Clay, Douglas, Blaine — the tri- 
umvir of captivating party leaders, as Clay, Webster, 
and Calhoun were the triumvir of resplendent senators 
and statesmen — take off your hats to them, young men, 
and, imitating their devotion to their duty as they saw 
it, try to avoid the excess, the riot of manhood, which 
sometimes led them astray, while you cultivate the self- 
denial and self-repression you will find in the lives of 
Washington, of Calhoun, and of Lincoln. 

The generation which fought to a finish the irre- 
pressible antagonisms our fathers had compromised — 
deciding for all time that the Government is a nation, 
and not a huddle of petty sovereignties, that the Con- 
stitution is the law, fixed and organic, and not a rope 
of sand — is passing away. I can scarcely realize that I 
belong to that generation, that I, too, have borne a part 
in the consideration of problems, toward the solution 
of which the best efforts of the best men have been but 
as the blind leading the blind. What mistakes we 
have made! What weaklings we have been! And 
how helpless, except for some saving grace in the Amer- 
ican character and destiny! Happy it is that so many 
57 



The Compromises of Life 

of us survive to tell the tale! Three hundred years 
ago there would have been fewer by half. In the good 
old days of the Inquisition and the Star Chamber we 
should have reached our ends, have compassed our de- 
signs, by torturing and killing those who got in our 
way. Let us give thanks to God that we have fallen 
upon gentler times; that we may do our love-making 
and our law-making as we do our ploughing, in a 
straight furrow; that It Is the close of the nineteenth, 
not the opening of the sixteenth of the centuries. Even 
the tax-gatherer Is to be preferred as a steady visiting ac- 
quaintance, to the headsman, and journalism, with all 
its imperfections, offers a fairer field for human invest- 
ment than the battle-axe of the middle ages. 



58 



J 



THE SOUTH IN LIGHT AND SHADE* 

Of every people it may be said, "by their jokes ye 
shall know them." Men are least restrained in their 
mirth, and give therein the largest play to their likes 
and dislikes. The humor of Fielding, Thackeray tells 
us, is wonderfully wise and detective ; it flashes upon a 
rogue and lightens up a rascal like a policeman's Ian- 
thorn. The same may be said of the humor of Rabe- 
lais, though the objects of its ridicule are not always 
cheats and scamps. The difference between opera 
bouffe and Anglo-Saxon farce represents the difference 
between the life of the French and the life of the Eng- 
lish. With Americans it is not the snob and the hus- 
band who are satirized; our jocosity embraces chiefly 
the small boy, the widow, and the mother-in-law, re- 
serving for its most palpable hits the bully, the vision- 
ary speculator, the gamester, and the commercial agent. 
Thus American humor may be divided into two classes 
— that which relates to fighting and that which relates 
to money. In the South this general classification 
grows still narrower, gaining, however, in whimsicality 
and local color what it lacks in breadth. 

There can be no mistaking the origin of the story of 

*i877. 

59 



The Compromises of Life 

the traveller who asked a Mississlppian whether it 
was worth his while to carry a pistol, and was 
told: ''Well, stranger, you mout move around here 
more'n a year an' never need a pistol, but ef you should 
happen to need one, you'd need it powerful." Equally 
characteristic is the record of a well-known Tennessee 
case. The principal witness for the commonwealth 
testified that he was sent to get a fresh pack of cards, 
that he got them, and, returning, sat down in the grass. 
Here he balked in his testimony, and would go no fur- 
ther. At last, after cross-questioning and coaxing had 
been exhausted, the judge threatened him with fine 
and imprisonment, whereupon he said: "Please, your 
honor, if I must tell why I drapped in the jimson 
weeds, I suppose I must. It was just, your honor, to 
look over the kerds, and mark the bowers'* The fol- 
lowing no less reflects the local color of the ante-bellum 
days: Two Kentuckians went to settle their bill at a 
hotel in Boston. There being a dispute about the 
amount, one of them grew angry and began to 
swear, when the other said: "Remember, John, who 
you are. Remember you are a Jv^ntuckian. Pay the 
bill and shoot the scoundrel^ Parson BuUen, in his 
funeral oration over the dead body of Sut Lovingood, 
observed : 

"We air met, my brethering, to bury this ornery cuss. 
He had bosses, an' he run 'em ; he had chickens, an' he 
fit 'em; he had kiards, an' he played 'em. Let us try 
60 



The South in Light and Shade 

an' rlcollect his virtues — ef he had any — an' forgit 
his vices — ef we can. For of sich air the kingdom of 
heaven 1" 

Such incidents as these could not happen, and there- 
fore could not be humorously narrated, in any part of 
the world except the South. 

In the old steam-boating times the typical Southerner 
was pictured as a ranting, roving blade, who wore a 
broad-brimmed Panama hat and a great watch-fob, who 
was an expert in the decoction and disposition of 
mixed drinks, who ended all his sentences with ''By 
Gawd, sir," and thought no more of betting *'a likely 
nigger-boy" on a ''bobtail flush" than you or I would 
think of betting a button on the result of a Presidential 
election. It was he who was to be encountered during 
the winter anywhere and all the way from Cairo to 
New Orleans ; during the summer at any of the water- 
ing-places, from Saratoga to Newport. He travelled 
with a dusky valet, a silver-headed cane, two rufiled 
shirts, and a case of hair-triggers. His morning meal 
was a simple Kentucky breakfast — "three cocktails and 
a chaw of terbacker." His amusements were equally 
simple and few : he could clip the wing of a mosquito at 
ten or fifteen paces ; could stop the launching of a life- 
boat to tell his terrified fellow-passengers the last good 
story from "Georgy" ; could pull to a shoestring, as the 
saying went, and draw a tanyard ! He affected blooded 
stock, particularly game-cocks. To him the pedigree 
6i 



The Compromises of Life 

of a race-horse, like a question in constitutional lore, 
was a sacred subject, to be tampered with under penalty 
of death. He had the faculty of losing his money, and 
other people's money, with charming indiscrimination, 
if not with delightful indifference, at all games of 
chance, from chuck-a-luck to brag. That such an 
animal would fight was a matter of course; he would 
fight anything, preferring, indeed, the "tiger." 

The invention of the comparatively modern pastime 
called by the fastidious English "American whist," to 
escape its more vulgar appellation of "draw-poker," 
was to him the discovery of another world. He felt 
ao the ancient monarch would have felt had the new 
amusement for which he offered a reward really come 
into being. It struck him, and it stuck to him. Its 
very nomenclature tickled his fancy, beginning with its 
descriptive soubriquet "draw-poker." He was in the 
habit of drawing on his commission merchant, on his 
revolver, and on his imagination, and here was a chance 
to draw on all three at one and the same time. He 
was himself a poker — a poker of fun at all men, a 
poker of nonsense in the face and under the nose of 
Providence. Then the titles of the hands were de- 
scriptive. There were "fulls" and "flushes," and was 
not his own life a perpetual see-saw between the two? 
— for when he was not flush he was sure to be full, and 
vice versa. 

In those days there were no bloated bondholders. 
62 



The South in Light and Shade 

We had not even risen to the dignity of the insurance 
agent. Capital was really timid, and, for the most 
part, was represented in the South, as far as the East 
was concerned, by the peddler, the colporteur, and the 
vendor of lightning-rods. These, who made them- 
selves familiar with Southern thoroughfares only, were 
impressed by the manners of our swaggering hero ; they 
stood abashed before his bullying; they were amused 
by his vulgarity; being for the most part unversed in 
the ways of the world, except that of trade, they were 
bound to fall into mistakes. Not unnaturally, there- 
fore, they mistook the Southern swashbuckler for the 
Southern gentleman, and carried home a daguerreotype 
of Southern life taken from their adventures, which, 
as we may conjecture, were never of the nicest. The 
South, on its part, got its view of the North from the 
wandering middlemen who were best known to it ; and 
thus a mutual misconception sprang into existence — 
taking its ideas and examples, not from the better classes 
of society, but from the worst. The truth is, that behind 
these the good people of the North and South lived, 
moved, and had their being: in the one section, relying 
upon thrift and industry to build up fortunes; in the 
other section, victims to circumstance rather than de- 
sign, accumulating debts as they accumulated slaves. 
I am sure that I am not mistaken in this ; and, indeed, 
events are verifying it. After years of contention and 
war, the obstructive forces are passing away, and what 

63 



The Compromises of Life 

do we see? Why, in the South, looking northward, 
we see a race, kindred to ourselves, a little less effusive, 
but hardly less genial, already disciplined and equipped 
to struggle against the winds and the waves. In the 
North, looking southward, the philosophic observer 
sees, not a huddle of lazy barbarians, composed in large 
part of murderers and gamblers, but a great body of 
Christian men and women, who have had a hard strug- 
gle with fate and fortune, but who have stood against 
the elements with a fortitude that contradicts the 
characteristics formerly imputed to them; he sees the 
master of yesterday the toiler of to-day ; he sees the mis- 
tress of the mansion, still a gentlewoman in the truest 
sense, striving and saving, patching, piecing, and pinch- 
ing to make both ends meet ; he sees, in short, a people, 
born to the luxury of a rich soil and a warm climate, 
and inured to nothing except the privations of disas- 
trous war and unexpected poverty, throwing themselves 
bravely into the exigencies of real life; nowhere indo- 
lent and idle ; nowhere demoralized ; everywhere cheer- 
ful, active, and sober. 

It is not of these, however, that I am going to speak 
to-night. The homely story of their ups and downs 
will pass into the humor of the future. I wish to 
introduce here a lower order — to talk of the comicali- 
ties and whimsicalities of Southern life, embodied in 
the exploits of the howling raccoon of the mountains 
and the musings of the epic hero who, describing him- 

64 



The South in Light and Shade 

self, said: "I am a fighter from Bitter Creek; I'm a 
wolf, and this is my night to howl. IVe three rows of 
front teeth, and nary tooth alike. The folks on Bitter 
Creek are bad; the higher up you go, the wuss they 
are; and rm from the head-waters." This type is the 
offspring of a class, and, as humor itself springs from 
the nether side of nature, he must needs play a consid- 
erable part in the veracious chronicle of Southern life. 
Running over the pages of Professor Longstreet's 
amusing volume of ''Georgia Scenes," certainly a most 
faithful, as well as a most graphic, series of pen-pictures 
of the South, one is agreeably impressed by the absence 
of venality and blood-thirstiness which marks the vari- 
ous narrations. The table of contents embraces all 
manner of inland adventure, from a gander-pulling to a 
shooting-match, including such suggestive chapters as 
"The Horse-swap," "The Debating Society," "The 
Militia Drill," and "The Fox Hunt." "The Life and 
Adventures of Bill Arp" is a continuation of the same 
class of incidents, narrated by the principal actor, in 
backwoods English. Both volumes, however, are 
bounded by purely local confines. The yarns spun by 
Sut Lovingood, who describes himself as "a nateral 
born dern'd fool," have been more fortunate; at least 
one of them has travelled across the Atlantic, where, 
translated into French, it enlivens a scene in one of the 
ingenious dramas of M. Victorien Sardou. Sut Lovin- 
good is described as "a queer, long-legged^ web-footed, 

65 



The Compromises of Life 

short-bodied, hog-eyed, and white-haired" creature, 
mounted on "a nick-tailed, bow-necked, long, poor, 
pale, sorrel horse" — a compound of ignorance and cun- 
ning, half dandy and half devil, perpetually entangled in 
"a net-work of bridle-reins, crupper, martingales, 
straps, stirrups, surcingles, and red ferreting." He 
tells his own story in the wildest of East Tennessee jar- 
gon, being a native of that beatific region, and is, of 
course, the hero of his own recitals. These, be it said, 
are quite as often at his expense as in glorification of 
his exploits. There is an extravagant oddity in his ex- 
perience which rarely fails to arrest attention. On 
one occasion he tells how, seeing for the first time "a 
biled shirt," he desires to emulate the wearer and imi- 
tate the fashion. He broods over the mystery of biled 
shirts. He roams in the mountains and dives into the 
philosophy of biled shirts. At length, he discovers in 
a female friend an original genius. She has no more 
practical knowledge of starch than himself; but she 
has heard that flour, boiled to a certain consistency 
and smeared over a given surface of textile fabric, will 
stiffen it. So she undertakes the job, makes the paste, 
douses Lovingood's homespun into it, and, being in a 
hurry, he puts it on before it is dry. He goes to the 
grocery to show himself, drinks deeply, and falls asleep ; 
the shirt congeals upon him, and when he wakes — in a 
hay-loft — he is a sight to see. How to escape becomes 
at once a problem. At length, to make a long story 
66 



The South in Light and Shade 

short, he loosens the edges of the tails of the unman- 
ageable garment, and tacks these to the four sides of 
the hole in the floor by which entrance is had to the hay- 
loft, and plunges through to the ground below^-with 
what consequences one may imagine. 

On another occasion, the Lovingood family being 
about to starve, and there being no horse to plough with, 
Sut's father agrees to be horse and pull the plough, en- 
acting the part perfectly until he gets into a nest of yel- 
low-jackets, when — considering it his duty to act as a 
horse would act — he runs away, destroying plough, 
gear, and all, much to the consternation of his son, who 
plays the part of ploughman. Again, being greatly en- 
raged with a local preacher, Sut resolves upon revenge, 
and goes to camp-meeting to accomplish his purpose. 
The culmination of this exploit he tells thus : 

"I tuck a seat on the steps of the pulpit an' kivered 
as much of my face with my ban's es I could, to show 
I was in yearnest. Hit tuck powerful, for I hearn a 
sort o' thankful kin' of buzz all over the congregashun. 
Thur were a monstrous crowd in that grove, for the 
weather was fine and beleevers was plenty. The par- 
son give out an' they sung that good ole hym : 

** * Thur will be mournin', mournin', mournin' here, 
And mournin', mournin', mournin' there, 
On that dread day to come.' 

"Thinks I, kin it be possible anybody has tole the ole 
varmint what's goin' to happen to him? An' then I 
'low'd nobody know'd it but me, an' I was comforted. 
He nex' tuck his tex', which was powerfully mixed with 

67 



The Compromises of Life 

brimstone an' trim'd with blue an' red flames. Then 
he opened. He commenced onto the sinners. He 
threatened 'em orful, tried to skeer 'em with the wust 
varmints he could think of, an' arter a while, he got 
onto the subject of hell-sarpints, an' he dwelt on it. 
He tole 'em how the ole hell-sarpints 'd sarve 'em ef 
they didn't repent ; how both hot an' cold they'd crawl 
over their naked bodies; how they'd 'rap their tails 
roun' their necks, poke their tongues down their throats, 
an' hiss in their ears. I seed thet my time had come. 
I had cotched seven or eight pot-bellied lizzards, an' 
had 'em in a narrer bag thet I had made a purpose. 
So, when he war a rarin' an' a tearin' an' a ravin' onto 
his tip-toes, an' a-poundin' ov the pulpit, onbeknowns 
to anybody I ontied my bag ov reptiles, put the mouf ov 
hit onto the bottom ov his briches-leg, an' begun a 
pinchin' ov their tails. Quick as gunpowder they all 
took up his leg, makin' a noise like squirrels climbin' a 
shell-bark hickory, or a sycamin'. He stopt rite in the 
middle of the word 'damnation.' He looked for an 
instant like he were listenin' for somethin'. His ter- 
rific features stopped the shoutin'. You could 'a' hearn 
a cricket jump. Jess about this time one ov my liz- 
zards pops his head out'n the parson's shirt-collar, wag- 
gin' his ole brown neck an' surveyin' of the congrega- 
shun. The parson seed it, an' it war too much for 
him. He got his tongue, the old varmint, an' he cries : 
Tray for me, brethren! pray for me, sisteren! I is 
'rastlin' with the arch enemy, rite now! Pray for me 
an' save yerselves! For the hell-sarpints hav' got 
me!'" 



I have abridged the details, which, though very 
comic, are, it must be owned, very coarse. The book 
abounds with similar burlesque. It is not real life, 
68 



The South in Light and Shade 

indeed, but an attempt, in a rough way, to travesty the 
shams of the crude life sought to be portrayed and 
satirized. The orthography is really original, if noth- 
ing else, not at all imitative either of Yellowplush or 
Artemus. The author of the book lived and died 
among the scenes he describes — a quiet, sombre East- 
Tennessean, George Harris by name. His contribu- 
tions were made in the first place to a journal in Nash- 
ville, and collected thence into a volume. The value 
of this may not be great, but its quaintness is unde- 
niable. 

About thirty years ago there appeared in the New 
Orleans Picayune a, sermon which attracted imme- 
diate attention and attained wide currency. It was at 
once recognized as a genuine transcription. It pur- 
ported to have been delivered by a volunteer preacher, 
who, making his livelihood as captain of a flat-boat, 
happened to "lay up" over Sunday by a Mississippi 
landing. An idle crowd being collected, he organized 
an impromptu congregation, and produced a discourse 
which has obtained a standard place in our comic litera- 
ture. He began: 

"I may say to you, my brethering, that I am not an 
edicated man, an' I am not one o' them as believes an 
edication is necessary in a minister of the Gospel; for 
I believe the Lord edicates his preachers jest as he wants 
'em to be edicated ; and although I says it as ought not 
to say it, in the State of Alabamy, where I live, there's 
no man what gits bigger congregashuns nor what I gits. 

69 



The Compromises of Life 

"There may be some here to-day, my brethering, as 
don't know what persuasion I am uv. Well, I must 
say to you that I am a Hard-shell Baptist. Thar is 
some folks as don't like the Hard-shell Baptists, but, 
as fur as I sees, it's better to have a hard shell than no 
shell at all. You see me here to-day, my brethering, 
dressed up in fine clothes; you mout think I was proud. 
But I am not proud, my brethering. For, although I've 
been a preacher of the gospel for nighly twenty year, 
an' am capting of that flat-boat at your landing, I am 
not proud, my brethering. 

"I am not a-gwnne to tell you adzactly whar my tex 
is to be found; suffice it to say it's in the leds of the 
Bible, and you'll find it somewhere between the first 
chapter of the book of Generations and the last chapter 
of the book of Revolution; and ef you'll go an' sarch 
the scripters, you'll not only find my tex thar, but a good 
many other texes as will do you good to read, and when 
you shall find my tex you shall find it to read 
thus: 

" 'An' he played upon a harp of a thousand strings — 
sperrits of just men made perfick.' 

"My tex, my brethering, leads me, in the fust place, 
to speak of sperrits. Thar is a great many kinds of 
sperrits in the world. In the fust place, thar's sperrits 
as some folks calls ghosts and thar's sperrits of turpen- 
tine, and thar's sperrits as some folks calls liquor, an' 
I've got as good a article of them kind o' sperrits on my 
flat-boat as was ever fotched down the Mississippi 
River ; but thar's a good many other kin' o' sperrits, for 
the tex says 'he played upon a harp of a thousand strings 
— sperrits of just men made perfick.' 

"But, I'll tell you what kind of sperrits as are meant 
in the tex, my brethering. It's Fire. That's the kind 
of sperrits as is meant in the tex, my brethering. Now, 
of course, ther is a great many kinds of fire in the 

70 



The South in Light and Shade 

world. In the fust place, there's the common sort of 
fire you light your pipe with, and there's fox-fire and 
camphire, fire afore you're ready and fire-an'-fall-back, 
and many other kinds of fire ; for the tex says 'he played 
upon a harp of a thousand strings — sperrits of just men 
made perfick.' 

"But I'll tell you the kind of fire as is meant in the 
tex, my brethering. It is Hell-fire! An' that's the 
kind of fire a good many of you are coming to ef you 
don't do better nor what you have been doin', for 'he 
played upon a harp of a thousand strings — sperrits of 
just men made perfick.' 

''Now, the different sorts o' fire in the world may be 
likened to the different persuasions of Christians in the 
world. In the fust place, we have the 'Piscopalians. 
And they are a high-sailin' an' a hifalutin' set, and may 
be likened onto a turkey-buzzard a-flying up in the air, 
an' he goes up, an' up, an' up, ontil he looks no bigger'n 
your finger-nail, an' the fust thing you know he comes 
down and down, and is a-fillin' hisself on the carcass 
of a dead boss by the side of the road, for the tex says 
*he played upon a harp of a thousand strings — sperrits 
of just men made perfick.' 

"Then thar is the Methodists, and they may be lik- 
ened unto a squirrel a-climbin' up into a tree, for the 
Methodists believes in gwine on from grace to grace till 
they gits to perfection; an' so the squirrel goes up an' 
up, an' jumps from limb to limb and from branch to 
branch, and the fust thing you know he falls, an' down 
he comes, kerflumix, for they is always fallin' from 
grace; for the tex says 'he played upon a harp of 
a thousand strings — sperrits of just men made per- 
fick.' 

"An' then, my brethering, thar's the Baptists, ah. 
An* they have been likened to a 'possum on a 'simmon- 
tree ; and thunders may roll and the yearth may quake ; 

71 



The Compromises of Life 

but that 'possum clings thar still, ah; and you may 
shake one foot loose, an' the other's thar, ah! and you 
may shake all feet loose, an' he wraps his tail around 
the limb, an' clings, an' clings forever, for 'he played 
upon a harp of a thousand strings — sperrits of just men 
made perfick.' " 



Irreligious as this may seem, grotesque and prepos- 
terous, it is not overstated. In the old time, and on 
the borders of civilization, such sermons v^^ere by no 
means uncommon. They are still to be heard in the 
"back settlements," as they are called ; and, w^hile those 
who make them pass for what they are worth as preach- 
ers, their sincerity goes unchallenged. 

It was doubtless the publication of Professor Long- 
street's "Georgia Scenes," in 1840, which suggested a 
continuous story upon the same stage of action, and in 
1842 "Major Jones's Courtship" appeared. The 
author of this homely, natural, and amusing fiction, 
Mr. W. T. Thompson, an editor in Savannah, is still 
alive. In 1848 he followed his first production with 
"Major Jones's Sketches of Travel," which possess a 
value as contemporaneous pictures beyond and above 
their humor, abundant as that is. The "Courtship," 
however, is a novel, originally meant as a travesty, to 
which time has lent a sort of pathos. It is a graphic 
portraiture of the interior life of the South. Rough 
and ready as the farce is, it is never vulgar. Its char- 
acters are few, simple, and virtuous. It deals with 
72 



The South in Light and Shade 

clean homespun. It carries the mind back to the old 
brick church, the innocent picnic, the rural Fourth of 
July celebration, the Christmas frolic. 

Joseph Jones, only son of the Widow Jones, liv- 
ing near the village of Pineville, in Georgia, is 
a well-to-do young farmer. He is in love with 
Mary Stallins, daughter of the Widow Stallins, a 
near neighbor. Joseph has grown up on the planta- 
tion, an honest, affectionate, moral young man; Mary 
has gone off to boarding-school, and comes home a 
belle. The adventures are bounded on the one side by 
the barnyard, on the other side by the hearthstone. 
Over all a pair of rugged roof-trees cast their kindly 
shade. The story runs along like a brook, without 
effort or concealment. There is no villain in the piece 
— only a would-be wit, called Cousin Pete, who is in- 
troduced as a tease. The tribulations of the lovers are 
very slight; but there is throughout the narrative a 
naturalness which, being nowhere strained for its fun, 
is really captivating. As an example, I cannot forbear 
quoting the culmination of the courtship. You will 
understand that our hero has had many struggles and 
trials bringing himself to the point of popping the 
question ; that, although he is almost sure of his sweet- 
heart, he cannot muster courage enough to make a 
direct proposal ; that everybody is in the secret and ap- 
proves the match. How the deed was finally done he 
shall tell himself: 

73 



The Compromises of Life 

"Crismus eve I put on my new suit, and shaved my 
face as slick as a smoothin' iron, and after tea went over 
to old Miss Stallinses. As soon as I went into the 
parler, whar they was all settin' round the fire, Miss 
Carline and Miss Kesiah both laughed rite out. 

" 'There! there!' ses they, *I told you so! I know'd 
it would be Joseph.' 

" 'What's I done. Miss Carline?' ses I. 

" 'You come under little sister's chicken bone, and 
I do believe she know'd you was comin' when she put 
it over the dore.' 

" 'No, I didn't — I didn't no such thing, now,' ses 
Miss Mary, and her face blushed red all over. 

" 'Oh, you needn't deny it,' ses Miss Kesiah, 'you 
belong to Joseph now, jest as sure as ther's any charm 
in chicken bones.' 

"I know'd that was a first rate chance to say some- 
thing, but the dear little creeter looked so sorry and 
kep' blushin' so, I couldn't say nothin' zackly to the 
pint ; so I tuck a chair and reched up and tuck down the 
bone and put it in my pocket. 

" 'What are you gwine to do with that old chicken 
bone now, Majer?' ses Miss Mary. 

" 'I'm gwine to keep it as long as I live,' says I, 'as a 
Crismus present from the handsomest gall in Georgia.' 

"When I sed that, she blushed worse and worse. 

" 'Ain't you 'shamed, Majer?' ses she. 

" 'Now you ought to give her a Crismus gift, Joseph, 
to keep all her life,' sed Miss Carline. 

" 'Ah,' ses old Miss Stallins, 'when I was a gall we 
used to hang up our stockin's ' 

" 'Why, mother!' ses all of 'em, 'to say stockin's right 
before ' 

"Then I felt a little streaked too, 'cause they was all 
blushin' as hard as they could. 

" 'Highty-tity,' ses the old lady; 'what monstrous 

74 



The South in Light and Shade 

'finement to be shore ! I'd like to know what harm there 
is in stockin's. People nowadays is gittin' so mealy- 
mouthed they can't call nothin' by its rite name, and I 
don't see as they's any better than the old time people 
was. When I was a gall like you, child, I use to hang 
up my stockin's and git 'em full of presents.' 

"The galls kep' laughin' and blushin'. 

" 'Never mind,' ses Miss Mary, 'Majer's got to give 
me a Crismus gift — won't you, Majer?' 

" *Oh, yes,' ses I, ^you know I promised you one.' 

" 'But I didn't mean that,' ses she. 

" 'I've got one for you, what I want you to keep all 
your life; but it would take a two-bushel bag to hold 
it,' ses I. 

" 'Oh, that's the kind,' ses she. 

" 'But will you promise to keep it as long as you 
live?' ses I. 

" 'Certainly, I will, Majer.' 

" 'Monstrous 'finement nowadays — old people don't 
know nothin' about perliteness," said old Miss Stallins, 
jest gwine to sleep with her 'nittin' in her lap. 

" 'Now, you hear that. Miss Carline,' ses I. 'She 
ses she'll keep it all her life.' 

" 'Yes, I will,' ses Miss Mary — 'but what is it?' 

" 'Never mind,' ses I ; 'you hang up a bag big enough 
to hold it, and you'll find out what it is, when you see 
it in the mornin'.' 

"Miss Carline winked at Miss Kesiah, and then 
whispered to her — then they both laughed and looked 
at me as mischievous as they could. They 'spicioned 
something. 

" 'You'll be shore to give it to me, now, if I hang up 
a bag?' ses Miss Mary. 

" 'And promise to keep it ?' ses I. 

" 'Well, I will, cause I know that you wouldn't give 
me nothin' that wasn't worth keepin'.' 

75 



The Compromises of Life 

"They all agreed they would hang up a bag for me 
to put Miss Mary's Crismus present in, on the back 
porch, and about ten o'clock I told 'em good evenin' 
and went home. 

"I sot up till midnight, and when they was all gone 
to bed, I went softly into the back gate, and went up to 
the porch, and thar, shore enough, was a great big 
meal-bag hangin' to the jice. It was monstrous un- 
handy to get to it, but I was 'termined not to back out. 
So I sot some chairs on top of a bench, and got hold of 
the rope and let myself down into the bag; but, just as 
I was gettin' in, it swung agin the chairs, and down they 
went with a terrible racket; but nobody didn't wake 
up but Miss Stallins's old cur dog, and here he come 
rippin' and tearin' through the yard like rath, and round 
and round he went tryin' to find what was the matter. 
I scrooch'd down in the bag, and didn't breathe louder 
nor a kitten, for fear he'd find me out, and after a while 
he quit barkin'. The wind begun to blow 'bominable 
cold, and the old bag kep' turnin' round and swingin' 
so it made me sea-sick as the mischief. I was afraid 
to move for fear the rope would break and let me fall, 
and thar I sot with my teeth rattlin' like I had a ager. 
It seemed like it would never come daylight, and I do 
believe if I didn't love Miss Mary so powerful I would 
froze to death ; for my hart was the only spot that felt 
warm, and it didn't beat more'n two licks a minit; 
only when I thought how she would be supprised in 
the mornin', and then it went into a canter. Bimeby 
the cussed old dog come up on the porch, and began to 
smell about the bag, and then he barked like he thought 
he'd treed something. 'Bow! wow! wow!' ses he. 
Then he'd smell agin, and try to get up to the bag. 
'Git out!' ses I, very low, for fear the galls mout hear 
me. 'Bow! wow!' ses he. 'Begone! you 'bominable 
fool,' ses I, and I felt all over in spots, for I 'spected 

76 



The South in Light and Shade 

every minit he'd nip me, and what made it worse, I 
didn't know wharabouts he'd take hold. 'Bow! wow! 
wow!' Then I tried coaxin' — 'Come here, good fel- 
low,' ses I, and whistled a little to him, but it wasn't 
no use. Thar he stood and kep' up his everlasting 
whinin' and barkin' all night. I couldn't tell when 
daylight was breakin' only by the chickens crowin', and 
I was monstrous glad to hear 'em, fir if I'd had to stay 
thar one hour more, I don't beleeve I'd ever got out of 
that bag alive. 

"Old Miss Stallins come out first, and as soon as she 
seed the bag, ses she: 

" 'What upon yearth has Joseph went and put in 
that bag for Mary? I'll lay it's a yearlin' or some live 
animal, or Bruin wouldn't bark at it so.' 

"She went in to call the galls, and I sot thar, shiv- 
erin' all over so I couldn't hardly speak if I tried to — 
but I didn't say nothin'. Bimeby they all come runnin' 
out on the porch. 

" 'My goodness! what is it?' ses Miss Mary. 

" 'Oh, it's alive,' ses Miss Kesiah ; 'I seed it move.' 

" 'Call Cato, an' make him cut the rope,' ses Miss 
Carline, 'and let's see what it is. Come here, Cato, 
and get this bag down.' 

" 'Don't hurt it for the world,' ses Miss Mary. 

"Cato untied the rope that was round the jice 
and let the bag down easy on the floor, and I tumbled 
out, all covered with corn-meal from head to foot. 

" 'Goodness gracious!' ses Miss Mary, 'if it ain't the 
Majer himself.' 

" 'Yes,' ses I, 'and you know you promised to keep 
my Crismus present as long as you lived.' 

"The galls laughed themselves almost to deth, and 
went to brushin' off the meal as fast as they could, 
sayin' they was gwine to hang that bag up every Cris- 
mus till they got husbands, too." 

77 



The Compromises of Life 

Of course, Major Jones marries his sweetheart, and, 
as we learn from his book of travels, published many 
years afterward, the union was in every respect a happy 
one. 

I have hurried over these illustrations of Southern 
life, in order that I may reach, and give myself a little 
time to dwell upon, my old friend. Captain Simon 
Suggs, of the Tallapoosa Volunteers. He is to the 
humor of the South what Sam Weller is to the humor 
of England, and Sancho Panza to the humor of Spain. 
Of course, he is a sharper and a philosopher. But he 
stands out of the canvas whereon an obscure local 
Rubens has depicted him as lifelike and vivid as Gil 
Bias of Santillane. His adventures as a patriot and a 
gambler, a moralizer and cheat, could not have pro- 
gressed in New England, and would have come to a 
premature end anywhere on the continent of Europe. 
Although a military man of great pretension. Captain 
Suggs never threw out a skirmish-line or dug a rifle- 
pit. He scorned to intrench himself. He played his 
hand, at no time of the best, "pat," as it were. He 
"spread it," as certain players do in the game called 
"Boaston," and, indeed, to speak truth, it was generally 
"a spread misery," for the career of this man, from the 
cradle to the grave, was one long, ambitious efFort to 
acquire fortune by making the pleasures and recreations 
of life tributary to its material development, and so, 
abjuring scriptural injunctions touching the sweat of 

78 



The South in Light and Shade 

the brow, to compel fortune to "call" him, when he 
had provided himself a certainty. If this did not suc- 
ceed, he at least made a struggle whose failure deserves, 
as it has received, historic record. No one can read the 
story of his life without rising from its perusal invigor- 
ated and refreshed. 

Simon Suggs was the son of a Hard-shell Baptist 
preacher, Jeddiah Suggs by name. Tradition tells, ac- 
cording to the chronicle, *'how Simon played the 
'snatch' game on Bill" (a sable companion in the corn- 
field), "and found an exceeding soft thing in his aged 
parent." I must quote a bit of this* : 

"The vicious habits of Simon were, of course, a sore 
trouble to his father, Elder Jeddiah. He reasoned, 
he remonstrated, and he lashed [but all in vain]. One 
day the simple-minded old man returned rather unex- 
pectedly to the field where he had left Simon and a 
black boy called Bill at work. The two were playing 
seven-up in a fence-corner; but, of course, the game 
was suspended as soon as they saw the old man's ap- 
proach. Simon snatched up the money, answering Bill's 
demurrer with, 'Don't you see daddy's down upon us 
with a armful of hick'ries? Anyhow, I was bound to 
win the game, for I hilt nothin' but trumps.' Another 
thought struck him. It might be that his father did not 
know they had been playing cards. He resolved to 
pretend that they had been playing mumble-the-peg. 
The old man came up. 

" 'So, ho, youngsters ; you in the fence-corner an' the 

* In this and the following quotations the text of the authorized edition 
is not followed exactly, but is judiciously condensed. 

79 



The Compromises of Life 

crop in the grass. Simon, what in the round yearth 
have you an' that nigger been a-doin' ?' 

"Simon said, with the coolness of a veteran, that 
they had been playing mumble-the-peg, which he pro- 
ceeded to explain. 

" *So, you git down on your knees,' says old Jeddiah, 
*to pull up that nasty little stick with your mouth? 
Let's see one of you try it now.' 

"Bill, being the least witted, did so, and just as he 
was strained to his fullest tension, down came one of 
the preacher's switches. With a loud yell. Bill plunged 
forward, upsetting Simon, and both rolled over in the 
grass. A card lay upon the spot where Simon had sat. 

" 'What's this, Simon ?' said his father. 

" 'The jack o' dimonts,' said Simon, coolly, seeing 
that all was lost. 

" 'What was it doing down thar, Simon?' 

" 'I had it under my leg to make it on Bill the fust 
time it come trumps.' 

" 'What's trumps, Simon ?' This with irony. 

" 'Nothin's trumps,' says Simon, doggedly, 'sense you 
come an' busted up the game.' 

" 'To the mulberry, both on ye, in a hurry; I'm 
a-gwine to correck ye,' said old Jeddiah. After Bill 
had received his quantum in Simon's presence, the 
father turned to his son and said: 'Cross them hands, 
Simon.' 

" 'Daddy,' says Simon, ' 'tain't no use.' 

" 'Why not, Simon ?' 

" 'Jess bekase it ain't. I'm a-gwine to play cards as 
long as I live. I'm a-gwine to make my livin' by 'em. 
So what's the use o' lickin' me about it ?' 

"Old Mr. Suggs groaned. 

" 'Simon,' says he, 'you are a poor, ignor'nt creeter. 
You've never been nowhar. Ef I was to turn you off, 
you'd starve.' 

80 



The South in Light and Shade 

" *I wish you'd try me,' says Simon, 'and jess see.' 

** 'Simon ! Simon ! You pore onlettered fool ! Don't 
you know that all card-players and chicken-fighters an' 
horse-racers goes to hell?' 

** 'I kin win more money in a week,' says Simon, 
'than you kin make in a year.' 

" 'Why, you idiot, don't you know that them as plays 
cards allers loses their money ?' 

" 'Who wins it, then, daddy?' says Simon. 

"This was a poser, and in the conversation which 
ensued Simon added to his advantage. At last, to sat- 
isfy his father that be really had a genius for his chosen 
profession, he offered to bet him what silver he had 
against the old blind mare and immunity from the im- 
pending chastisement, that he could turn up a jack from 
any part of the pack. 

" 'Me to mix 'em?' said old Jeddiah. 

" 'Yes.' 

" 'It can't be done, Simon ! No man in Augusty, no 
man on the face of the yearth, can do it.' 

" 'I kin do it,' says Simon. 

" 'An' only see the back of the top card ?* 

" 'Yes, sir.' 

" 'An' all of 'em jest alike?' 

" 'More alike'n cow-peas.' 

" 'It's ag'in' natur', Simon — but giv'm to me.' 

"The old man turned his back to Simon, sat down on 
the ground and deliberately abstracted the jacks from 
the pack, slipping them into his sleeve. 'As I am bettin' 
on a certainty' he muttered, 'it stands to reason thar's 
no harm in it; I'll get all the money the boy has, and 
the lickin' will do him jest that much more good.' At 
length he was ready. So was Simon, who, all the while, 
had been surveying his father's operations over his 
shoulder. 

" 'Now, daddy,' says Simon, 'nary one of us ain't got 

8i 



The Compromises of Life 

to look at the cards whiles I am a-cuttin' 'em ; it spiles 
the conjuration.' 

" 'Very well, Simon,' said Jeddiah, with confidence. 

" 'And another thing: you must look me right hard 
in the eye.' 

" 'To be sure — to be sure. Fire away.' 

"Simon walked up to his father. The two gazed 
upon each other. 'Wake, snakes! day's a-breakin',' says 
Simon, with a peculiar turn of his wrist. 'Rise, jack.' 
He lifted half a dozen cards gently from the top of the 
pack and presented the bottom one to his father. 

"It was the jack of hearts. 

"Old Jeddiah staggered back. 'Merciful master!' 
says he, 'ef the boy hain't ! Go, my son, go. A father's 
blessin' with ye!' 

" 'And yit,' murmured Simon, as he moved away, 
'they say kerds is a waste of time.' " 

With such a start in life, it could hardly be expected 
that the career of the youthful Simon Suggs, whatever 
its triumphs, would add to the world's stock of harm- 
less pleasure. He had at a very tender age evolved 
out of his consciousness the theory that mother-wit can 
beat book-learning at any game. "Human natur' an' 
the human family is my books," said Simon, "and I've 
seen few but what I could hold my own with. Just 
give me one o' these book-read fellers, a bottle o' liquor, 
an' a handful of the dockymints, and I'm mighty apt to 
git all he's got an' all he knows, an' teach him in a 
gineral way a wrinkle or two into the bargain. Books 
ain't fit'n for nothing but to give little children goin' to 
school, to keep 'em out'n mischief. If a man's got 
82 



The South in Light and Shade 

mother-wit, he don't need 'em ; ef he ain't got it, they'll 
do him no good, no how." This was Simon's philoso- 
phy. His faith consisted in an ineradicable belief that 
he could whip the tiger in a fair fight. Many defeats 
had in nowise discouraged him; he had an explanation 
for each, which at least satisfied his own mind. He 
had girded up his loins, he had studied the cue-papers, 
and he was at length master of a system. Nothing was 
wanting but money enough to carry it out, and this he 
was as sure of raising at short-cards as he was that the 
day or night would come when he would get the upper 
hand of the beast, and wear his hide the remainder of 
his life as a trophy. Half of his sublime aspiration was 
realized. One fair morning he found himself pos- 
sessed of a hundred and fifty dollars, the accumulation 
of many smart local operations — for, after quitting the 
parental roof and wandering far and near for twelve or 
fifteen years, he had married and settled in Tallapoosa. 
It was the largest sum he had ever had at one time be- 
fore. His dream was about to be realized. He would 
at once go to Tuscaloosa, then the capital of Alabama, 
beard the tiger in his lair, clean out the legislature, 
vindicate his genius and opinions, and live like a fight- 
ing-cock off the proceeds. Considering the magnitude 
of the proposed expedition, Simon's means, it must be 
owned, were a little short. "But, what's the odds!" 
said he, when he started on his foray, "what's the odds 
— luck's a fortune." A hundred and fifty was as good 

83 



The Compromises of Life 

as a thousand and fifty — perhaps better. He reached 
Tuscaloosa in safety, having picked up an extra twenty- 
dollar note by the way, and had hardly bolted down his 
supper before, like Orlando, he set out in quest of ad- 
venture — in point of fact, to seek the tiger. Presently 
he espied a narrow stairway, with a red light gleaming 
above it. He waited for no further assurance. He 
boldly mounted the stairs and knocked at the door. 

" 'Holloa!' said a voice within. 

" 'Holloa yourself,' says Simon. 

" 'What do you want?' said the voice. 

" 'A game,' says Simon. 

" 'What's the name?' said the voice. 

" 'Cash,' says Simon. 

"Then another voice said : 'Let Cash in.' The door 
was opened and Simon entered, half-blinded by the sud- 
den burst of light, which streamed from the chandeliers 
and lamps, and was reflected in every direction by the 
mirrors which walled the room. Within this magic 
enclosure were tables covered with piles of doubloons, 
silver pieces, and bank-notes, and surrounded by eager 
but silent gamesters. As Simon entered he made a rus- 
tic bow, and said in an easy, familiar way: 

" 'Good-evenin', gentlemen.' 

"No one noticed him, and the Captain repeated : 

" 'I say, good-evenin*, gentlemen.' 

"Notwithstanding the emphasis with which the words 
were re-spoken, there was no response. The Captain 
was growing restive and felt awkward, when he over- 
heard a conversation between the two young men, who 
stood at the bar, which interested him. They had mis- 
taken him for General Thomas Witherspoon, of Ken- 
tucky. Simon could, of course, have no reasonable ob- 

84 



The South in Light and Shade 

jection to be taken for the rich hog-drover, and, having 
mentally resolved that, if he wsls not respected as such 
during the evening, it would be no fault of his, he saun- 
tered up to the faro-table, determined to bet his money 
w^hile it lasted with the spirit and liberality which he 
imagined General Witherspoon would have displayed 
had that distinguished citizen been personally present. 

" 'Twenty-five-dollar checks,' said he, 'and that 
pretty tolerably d d quick.' 

"The dealer handed him the desired symbol, and he 
continued with a careless air, 'Now grind on.' He put 
the whole amount on a single card, and it won; he 
repeated five times, and still won; he was master of 
nearly two thousand dollars. The rumor that he was 
a wealthy sportsman from Kentucky had spread through 
the room, which, joined to his turn of luck, drew a little 
group about the table. The Captain thought his time 
had come. He put up fifteen hundred dollars on the 
deuce. This was amazing, and a little bandy-legged 
dry-goods clerk, who looked on, observed: 

" 'My Lord, General ! I wouldn't put up that 
much on a single turn.' 

"Simon turned upon him, and glowered. 'You 
wouldn't, wouldn't you ? Well, I would. And I tell 
you, young man, the reason you wouldn't bet fifteen 
hundred dollars on the duce. It's because you ain't got 
no fifteen hundred dollars to bet.' 

"This sally was conclusive as to the wit of the sup- 
posititious General. The deuce won, and that settled 
any remaining doubt as to his identity. It made him a 
hero. Simon took his good fortune, however, with 
calm deliberation, responding with courtesy, but dig- 
nity, to the ovation which began to be extended. 'I do 
admit,' said he, 'that it is better — just the least grain in 
the world better — than drivin' hogs from Kentucky an' 
sellin' *em at four cents a pound,' At this point one of 

8s 



The Compromises of Life 

the young men who had mistaken him for General 
Witherspoon approached, and, stretching out his hand, 
said: 

*' 'Don't you know me, uncle?' 

"Captain Suggs drew himself up with as much dig- 
nity as he supposed General Witherspoon would have 
assumed, and said that he did not know the young man 
in his immediate presence. 

" 'Don't know me, uncle !' said the young man some- 
what abashed. 'Why, Fm little Jimmy Peyton, your 
sister's son. She's been expecting you for several days.' 

"All very well, Mr. James Peyton,' said Simon, with 
some asperity, 'but this is a cur'us world, and tolerably 
full of rascally impostors; so it stands a man in hand 
that has got somethin', like me, to be pretty particu- 
lar.'^ 

" 'Oh,' said several in the crowd, 'you needn't be 
afraid ; everybody knows he's the Widow Peyton's son.' 

" 'Wait for the waggin, gentlemen,' says Simon. 
'I'm a leetle notionary about these things, an' I don't 
want to take a nephy 'thout he's giniwine. This young 
man mout want to borrow money o' me.' 

"Mr. Peyton protested against such a suggestion. 

"'Very good,' says the Captain, approvingly; 'I 
mout want to borry money of him.* 

"Mr. Peyton expressed his willingness to share his 
last cent with his uncle. 

" 'So far so good,' says the Captain ; 'but it ain't 
every man I'd borry from. In the fust place, I must 
know ef he's a gentleman. In the second place, he must 
be my friend. In the third place, I must think he's 
both able an' willin' to afford the accommodation.' 

"These sentiments were applauded, and the Captain 
continued: 'Now, young man, just answer me a few 
plain questions. What's your mother's first name?' 

" 'Sarah,' said Mr. Peyton, meekly. 

86 



The South in Light and Shade 

" 'Right so far,' says Simon. 'Now, how many chil- 
dren has she?' 

*' 'Two — me and brother Tom.' 

" 'Right ag'in,' says Simon, and, bowing to the com- 
pany, 'Tom, gentlemen, were named arter me^ — warn't 
he, sir?' — this last with great severity. 

" 'He was, sir — his name is Thomas Witherspoon.' 

"Simon affected great satisfaction. 'Come here, 
Jeems. Gentlemen, I call you one and all to witness 
that I rekognize this here young man to be my proper, 
giniwine nephy — my sister Sally's son; an' I wish him 
rispected as sich. Jeems, hug your old uncle.' 

"After many embraces and much gratulation, during 
which Simon shed tears, he resumed his fight with the 
tiger. But the fickle goddess, jealous of his attentions 
to the nephew of General Witherspoon, turned darkly 
upon him. He lost all his gains as fast as he had won 
them, and with the same calm composure. Indeed, he 
made merry with his multiplying disasters, such as 
'Thar goes a fine, fat porker,' and 'That makes the 
whole drove squeal.' At length he had not a dollar 
left. 'My friend,' said he to the dealer, 'could an old 
Kentuckian as is fur from home bet a few mighty slick 
fat bacon hogs ag'in' money at this here table?' Of 
course he could, and presently had bet off the biggest 
drove that had ever entered Alabama. 

" 'Jeems,' says he. 

" 'Yes, uncle.' 

" 'Jeems, my son, I'm a leetle behind to this here 
gentleman here, an' I'm obliged to go to Greensboro by 
to-night's stage to collect some money as is owin' to me. 
Now, ef I should not be back home when my hogs 
come in — es likely I may not be — do you, Jeems, take 
this gentlemen to wharever the boys put 'em up, and 
see to it that he picks out thirty of the very best of the 
drove. D'ye mind, my son ?' 

87 



The Compromises of Life 

"This was entirely satisfactory to the dealer, and, 
having settled like a gentleman, Simon took his nephew 
into a corner of the room, and says he, thoughtfully; 
* Jeems, has — your — mother bought her pork yit ?' 

"Mr. Peyton said she had not. 

" 'Well, Jeems, you go down to the pen when the 
drove comes in, an' pick her out ten of the best. Tell 
the boys to show the new breed — them Berkshires.' " 

Mr. Peyton made his grateful acknowledgments, and 
the two started back to rejoin the company. But 
Simon paused. "Stop," says he. "You moutn't have 
a couple o' hundred about you that I could use until I 
get back from Greensboro, mout you ?" 

Mr. Peyton had only about fifty, but he could raise 
the rest, which he did at once. Then there was a good 
deal of joking and drinking, and Simon, finding that 
General Witherspoon had unlimited credit at the bar, 
treated the whole company to a champagne supper. 
At last, at four o'clock in the morning, he and James 
Peyton repaired to the Greensboro coach. Just before 
entering this vehicle, Simon stopped to bid an affection- 
ate adieu to his nephew. He was very full. 

" 'Jeems,' says he, 'I say, Jeems. I may forgit them 

fellers, but they'll never forgit me. I'm if they 

do.' Being assured that they never would, he contin- 
ued: 'Jeems, has yer mother bought her hogs yit?' 

" 'No, sir,' says Peyton. 'You know you told me to 
take ten of your hogs for her — don't you recollect ?' 

" 'Don't do that,' says Simon. 

'"No, Uncle?' 

" 'Take twenty !' " 

88 



The South in Light and Shade 

The military career of Captain Suggs sustained the 
character he had secured for himself in civil life. He 
commanded at Fort Suggs during the Creek war. His 
company of Tallapoosa Volunteers were sometimes 
dubbed by his political adversaries "The Forty 
Thieves," but this was afterward proved to be a slander. 
There were only thirty-nine of them. They and their 
gallant chief were never engaged in regular combat 
with the Indians, but their exploits upon watermelons 
and hen-roosts made them famous. Notwithstanding 
these, however, the close of the Creek war found Simon 
as poor as he had been when it began. The money 
which he had obtained by such devious, yet difficult, 
operations had melted away. At length, Mrs. Suggs 
informed him that "the sugar and coffee were nigh 
about out," and that there were "not above a dozen 
j'ints an' middlings, all put together, in the smoke- 
house." To a man of Suggs's affection this state of 
destitution was most distressing. He pondered over it 
with bitter anguish. Then he rose and paced the floor. 
Presently his features were set, his mind was fixed. 
"Somebody must suffer," said he. He would go to a 
camp-meeting, he would get religion, he would enter 
the ministry and build a church. He did not doubt 
that his versatile talents would carry him through this 
new part, and he was more than justified by the result. 
He went up to be prayed for, he toiled three days with 
the evil spirits, and when he had made himself the ob- 



The Compromises of Life 

ject of universal sympathy and hope, he shouted "halle- 
lujah," and from a miserable, impenitent sinner became 
at once an exhorter with surprising revivalistic talents. 



" 'Ante up, brethering,' he cried ; 'ante up ! I come 
in on nary pa'r, an' see what I drawed. This is a game 
whar everybody wins. You jest stick to the devil when 
he raises yer and raise him back, and he can't turn you 
ofE. In the service of the church you allers holds four 
aces.' This was a new style of religious illustration; 
but it took amazingly, and in a few days Simon devel- 
oped his purpose to enter the ministry and build a 
church, *ef he could git help.' It was agreed that a 
collection should be taken ; that the proceeds should be 
placed in the hands of the Rev. Belah Bugg, in trust, 
and that Simon should be sent back to Tallapoosa, re- 
joicing in his new-found grace. In passing around 
through the congregation Simon's appeals were at once 
persuasive and peculiar. 'Stack 'em up, brethering,' says 
he, 'and don't be bashful or backward. They'll size 
theyselves any way you pitch 'em in. Don't you see 
me? Ain't you proud of me? I'm a hoary old sinner, 
but I kin draw to a meetin'-house, an' git a whole con- 
gregation.' Three hundred dollars were thrown into 
the hat. After the collection Brother Bugg said: 
'Well, Brother Suggs, well done, thou good and faith- 
ful servant. Let's go and count it out. I've got to 
leave presently.' 

" 'No,' says Simon, solemnly, 'I can't do that.' 

" 'Why, Brother Suggs,' says Brother Bugg, 'what 
are the matter?' 

"Simon looked at him for a moment sadly, and says 
he, 'Brother Bugg, it's got to be prayed over fust.^ His 
whole face was illuminated. It looked like a torchlight 
procession. 

90 



The South in Light and Shade 

" 'Well,' says Bugg, 'let's go to one side and do it.' 

" 'No,' says Simon, sweetly. 

"Mr. Bugg was impressed, but uncertain. He gave 
a look of inquiry. 

"Says Simon: 'You see that krick swamp? I'm 
gwine down in thar; I'm gwine into that lonely swamp, 
an' I'm gwine to lay this means down so, an' I'm gwine 
to git on these kn-e-e-s, an' I'm n-e-v-e-r gwine to git up 
ontil I feel its blessin'. An' nobody ain't got to be thar 
but me — jess me an' the good spirits as goes with me.' 

"The Rev. Belah Bugg was overcome. He could not 
say a word. He wrung the hand of the new convert, 
and wished him 'God-speed.' Simon struck for the 
swamp, where his horse was already hitched and wait- 
ing. He mounted and rode musingly away. 'Ef I 
didn't do them fellers to a crackin',' says he, 'I'll never 
bet on two pa'r ag'in. They are pretty peart at the 
game theyselves ; but live and let live is my motto, an', 
arter all, gen'us and experience ought to count for 
somethin' in the long run.' " 

At various times in his life, Simon appeared before 
the courts to answer for his sins; but he never failed 
to come off with flying colors. His last appearance 
was as a witness before the grand jury. It was an 
especial panel, embracing the judge of the circuit and 
all the leading lawyers. 

" 'Captain Suggs,' said the foreman, 'did you play a 
game of cards last Saturday night in a room above Ster- 
ritt's grocery?' 

" 'Yes, sir,' says Simon, 'I did.' 

" 'What game of cards did you play, Captain Suggs ?' 

" 'Well, sir,' says Simon, 'it was a little game they 
call draw-poker.' 

91 



The Compromises of Life 

" 'You played for money, Captain Suggs ?' 

" 'No, sir ; we played for chips.' 

"This stumped the foreman; but a talented Alex- 
ander, who happened to be on the jury, put in : 

" 'Of course, of course, you played for chips, Captain 
Suggs. But you got your chips cashed at the close of 
the game, didn't you ?' 

" 'I don't know how that was,' said Simon ; 'es for 
me, I had no chips to cash.' " 

It was ever thus with Simon, and it was this which 
saved him. He rarely had any "chips to cash." He 
was always in a good humor, he was always a willing 
soul, he was always ready, and he was always short. 
In his old age he repented of his sins; he had learned 
by a long life, full of rich experience, that his own 
motto, "honesty is the best policy," was true. He 
pinned his faith to that ; and he stood to it. In conse- 
quence, he was elected sheriff of Tallapoosa County — 
a Whig county — he being the first Democrat who ever 
carried it. He died, and had a public funeral, and 
upon his tombstone may be seen inscribed to this day 
the following inscription: 

"Sacred to the memory of 

Captain Simon Suggs, 

Of the Tallapoosa Volunteers. 

He never hilt an opportune hand in his life; but 
when he drew upon eternity, it is believed he made an 
invincible In the world to come !" 

92 



The South in Light and Shade 

I take it that there there is no one here this evening 
who has not heard of the kiUing of McKissick. It 
created no little commotion throughout Coon Creek 
settlement, not only on account of the circumstances 
attending the homicide, but because McKissick was 
Jim Gardner's fourth man. According to Joe Furgu- 
son's testimony, "Mr. McKissick were sittin' in his 
back store a-playin' of his fid-dell — not thinkin' of 
bein' stobbed, nor nothin' of the kind — when the pris- 
oner at the bar comes in an' stobs Mr. McKissick; 
whereupon he seizes a i'on mallet, lights out o' the 
window, lips the fence, an' clars hisself." Circum- 
stances so heinous the law could not brook. The judge 
sent for the prosecuting attorney, and observed that this 
time Jim Gardner must go up; but, when the case 
came to trial, the defence poured in unexepectedly 
strong. Six or seven witnesses testified that, though a 
dangerous man when roused, Gardner was peaceful 
and unaggressive; that his various killings had been in 
self-defence, and that, if people would let him alone, 
he'd let them alone. As a last resort, the prosecution, 
seeing Billy Driver in the court-house, and observing a 
dreadful scar upon his neck from a wound inflicted by 
the prisoner some years before, called him to the stand. 

" 'Mr. Driver,' said the State's attorney, *do you 
know the prisoner at the bar?' 
"'What, Gar'ner there?' 
" 'Yes, sir, Gardner there.' 

93 



The Compromises of Life 

" 'Oh, yes. I know Gar'ner.' 

" 'How long have 5^ou known him?' 

" 'What, Jim Gar'ner?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Jim Gardner.' 

" 'Well, Jedge — you see I disremember figgers, but 
as man an' boy it's gwine on twenty years — mout be 
twenty-one or it mout be nineteen and a half — thar or 
tharabouts.' 

" 'Where did you get that scar across your neck, Mr. 
Driver?' 

" 'This 'ere scar, sir?' 

" 'Yes, sir, that scar. Didn't it result from a wound 
inflicted by the prisoner at the bar, sir ?' 

" 'What, Gar'ner?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Gardner.' 

" 'Oh, yes, that was Gar'ner. No doubt about that.' 

" 'Now, sir, tell the jury how it happened.' 

" 'Well, you see, me an' a parcel o' the boys was 
pitching dollars down to the cross-roads, and Jim Gar'- 
ner he was lyin' on the grass, a-keepin' the score. Arter 
we'd run the pot up to fifteen dollars — it mout ha' been 
sixteen, and then ag'in it moutn't ha' been more'n four- 
teen — one o' the boys says, 'Le's go up to the grocery 
an' git a drink.' We all 'lowed we'd go, an, jes' for 
devilment — not thinkin' thar was any harm in it, you 
know — I ups an' knocks Jim Gar'ner's hat off, and says 
he, 'You cussed, bow-legged, mandy-shanked, knock- 
kneed, web-footed, tangle-haired vermint, if you do that 
ag'in I'll cut your ornery throat for you.' Well, we 
gits a drink and goes back to the cross-roads, an' in 
about a hour, or a hour an' a half — it mout ha' been 
two hours — one o' the boys says ag'in, 'Le's go up to the 
grocery an' git a drink.' So we was gwine along to the 
grocery to git a drink, and jes' for devilment, you know 
— an' not thinkin' Gar'ner was in yearnest — I ups an* 
knocks his hat off, an' the fust thing I know'd he whips 

94 



The South in Light and Shade 

out a knife and ducks it into my throat. I didn't have 
no weapon nor nothin', so I 'lowed I'd better put a little 
daylight 'tween me an' Gar'ner, and I sorter sidled off, 
like, he follerin' ; but, Lord ! I know'd I had the bottom 
an' the hills, and that he couldn't ketch up with me. 
So every now an' then I'd stop an' let him closer, jes' to 
devil him. Arter a while, however, he picks up a hay- 
fork ' 

" 'Stop, sir! Was that hay- fork of wood or iron?' 

" *It mout ha' been o' wood, or it mout ha' been o' 
iron, or it mout ha' been o' steel, or ' 

*' 'How many teeth did it have?' 

" 'Well, you see, when I see Jim Gar'ner pick up 
the hay- fork, thinks I, I better put a little more day- 
light between me an' him, an' I disremember the num- 
ber o' teeth — it mout ha' been two, and then ag'in it 
mout ha' been four, may be five — I was in a bit of a 
hurry, an' I didn't exactly count 'em.' 

" 'Go on, sir!' 

" 'I did go on, sir, an' presently we got in sight o' 
my house, an' my wife happened to be comin' out to cut 
some wood, and as I rin past her to get out o' Gar'ner's 
way, she fetched him with the axe.' 

" 'Exactly, but for which he would have killed you.' 

" 'What, Gar'ner ?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Gardner.' 

" 'Oh, in course — in course. It stands to reason. 
Thar warn't no other door for me to get out of, an' he 
would ha' been in that if my wife hadn't downed him 
with the axe.' 

" 'How far is it from the cross-roads to your house, 
Mr. Driver?' 

" ' 'Bout a mile, or a mile an' a half, Jedge — may be 
two mile. I never measured it axactly.' 

" 'Now, Mr. Driver, will you tell the court what 
sort of a man you consider the prisoner at the bar?' 

95 



The Compromises of Life 

*' 'What, Gar'ner?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Gardner.' 

" 'I do'no nothin' ag'in Gar'ner, sir.' 

" 'Don't you think him a desperate character, sir?' 

'"What, Gar'ner?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Gardner.' 

" 'No, sir; I never hearn Gar'ner so called.' 

" 'Why, you say he cut your throat almost from ear 
to ear, followed you with an iron or steel hay-fork for 
two miles, and was only prevented from taking your 
life by the interposition of your wife.' 

" 'What, Gar'ner?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Gardner.' 

" 'I can't swear he didn't, sir.' 

" 'Then, if you don't consider him a desperate char- 
acter, what do you consider him ?' 

" 'What, Gar'ner, sir?' 

" 'Yes, sir, Gardner.' 

" 'Well, your honor, of course Gar'ner is a clever 
man — I've know'd of him gwine on to twenty years — 
mout be twenty-one, an' ag'in it moutn't be but nine- 
teen and a half — an' I should say that Gar'ner is a man 
that it won't do to go a-projeckin' with him.' " 



There used to be, and I fear there still are, a good 
many men in the South with whom "it won't do to go 
a-projeckin'." It is true that we have reformed that 
indifferently, and we hope, in time, to reform it alto- 
gether; howbeit, there is a deal of misconception 
abroad touching the character of our murderers. They 
are not, as is stated so often, young gentlemen of the 
first families. On the contrary, they are with us, as 
elsewhere, low fellows — mere brutes and bullies. 

96 



The South in Light and Shade 

There is, perhaps, more stealing than killing in the 
North, and more killing than stealing in the South, 
because the criminal classes of each section go for that 
which is cheapest, safest, and most abundant — money or 
blood, as the case may be ; but crime is crime the coun- 
try over, and nothing could be more unjust than the 
assumption of superior morality by the inhabitants of 
any part of it. No people in the world are more 
homogeneous than the people of the United States. 
Where differences exist they are purely exterior. The 
self-governing principle, the vestal fire of our Anglo- 
Saxon race, is strong enough and warm enough to 
maintain our system of Anglo-Saxon freedom and law 
to the farthest ends of the Republic. Like a touch of 
nature, making the whole Union kin, it joins the States, 
and should be left in each to do its work in its own 
way. The methods which suit one State may not suit 
another; but in all we may safely trust the result to 
the good sense and good feeling, shaped by the inter- 
est and guided by the intelligence, of the greater num- 
ber, sure that in the South, no less than in the North, 
the conservative forces of society, left to themselves, 
will prevail over violence and wrong. Much, if not 
most, of the disorder of the last few years has been 
directly traceable to a conflict of jurisdictions, State 
and Federal. Between the two stools justice fell to 
the ground, while malefactors made their escape. It is 
absurd to suppose that any civilized people, living 
97 



The Compromises of Life 

within the sound of church-bells, can love lawlessness 
for its own sake. 

If the manhood of the South were less true than it 
is, it would be held to its standards by the womanhood 
of the South. During our period of savage conten- 
tion this shone with a sweet and gracious lustre, which 
dazzled even those against whom it was directed, so 
that the worst which was said of the Southern woman 
by soldiers whom only the laws of war made her ene- 
mies, related to her fidelity in what they considered a 
bad cause. But if in time of war she was plucky, pa- 
tient, and sincere, her triumphs have been tenfold 
greater during a peace which has spread before her 
harder trials still; the transition from wealth to pov- 
erty, with its manifold heart-burnings and mischances, 
joining the sharp pangs of memory to the grievous bur- 
dens of every-day life; the unfamiliar broomstick and 
the unused darning-needle ; the vacant clothes-chest and 
the empty cupboard — 

"The desecrated shrine, the trampled ear. 
The smould'ring homestead and the household flower, 
Torn from the lintel." 

I know nothing more admirable in all the world of 
history or romance than the blithe, brave woman of 
the South, grasping the realities of life in hands yet 
trembling with the interment of its ideals, and plant- 
ing upon the grave of her first and only love signals 

98 



The South in Light and Shade 

of fortitude and honor, cheerfulness and gentleness, to 
be seen and followed by her children. These she would 
have inherit with the misfortunes of the South, the 
pride of the South — not expressed in noisy vaunt and 
scorn of honest toil, in idleness and repining, but in a 
noble nature and a gift for work. 

In the full meridian of their prosperity, the people 
of the South were an easy-going, pleasure-loving people. 
You will not have failed to observe, in the rude examples 
of Southern humor which I have cited, the conspicuous 
part played by the literature of the pictorial paste- 
boards, by cards and gaming. It could not be other- 
wise if they should be true to nature and reality. Men 
who dwell upon great estates, who are surrounded by 
slaves, who have few excitements or cares, are likely 
to grow indolent. The Southern gentleman had plenty 
of time, and he thought he had plenty of money to lose. 
A wide veranda, a party of agreeable neighbors, ice- 
water to burn and Havana cigars, a brisk little black 
boy to keep off the flies, and a bright little yellow boy 
to pass about the nutmeg — that was the ideal state. 
Of course the lower orders imitated and vulgarized, 
as I have shown, the luxurious habits of the upper. 
The crash came ; and, like the unsubstantial pageant of 
a dream, the pretty fabric fell. The great and the 
small, the good and the ill, were buried under one com- 
mon ruin. There is hardly anything left of the gilded 
structure. It is no longer fashionable or respectable to 
99 

;LofC. 



The Compromises of Life 

fribble the days away in idle, costly pleasure. Battle- 
scarred, time-worn, and care-worn, the South that is, 
is most unlike the South that was. There is something 
truly pathetic in the spectacles of altered fortune which 
everywhere meet the eye ; for in the old life there were 
very few shadows. Such as there were gathered them- 
selves about the negro cabins. 

I have purposely omitted the humors of the Southern 
black, because, amusing though they be, they are not 
essentially racy of the soil. The negro is an African 
in Congo or in Kentucky, in Jamaica or in Massachu- 
setts. His humor is his own, a department to itself, 
embracing, amid much that is grotesque, more that is 
touching ; for his lot has been as varied as his complex- 
ion, and ever and ever of a darksome hue. I know 
nothing that appeals so directly to the intellects and 
sensibilities of thoughtful men as the treatment he has 
received among us, North and South, in the present and 
in the past, and I declare that when I think of him, 
funny as he may seem to be, I am moved by any other 
than mirthful suggestions. I look back into that by-gone 
time, and I see him, not as a squalid serf, picturesque in 
his rags, or as we behold him on the minstrel stage — 
the clown in the pageant making merry with cap and 
bell — but as an image of impending sorrow crouched 
beneath the roof-tree, God's shadow upon the dial of 
American progress, whose cabalistic figures the wisest 
have not been able to read. I turn away dismayed. I 
lOO 



The South in Light and Shade 

dare not look upon the scene and laugh, if he is to be 
a part of it. I only know, and to that degree I am 
happy, that slavery is gone with other bag and baggage 
of an obsolete time; that it is all gone — the wide 
veranda filled with pleasure-loving folk ; the vast estate, 
without a reason for its existence or a purpose in the 
future ; the system which, because it was contented, re- 
fused to realize or be impressed by the movements of 
mankind. 

All, all has passed away. The very life which made 
it possible is gone. The man who, being able to pursue 
his bent, lives to amuse himself, is hardly more thought 
of now than the poor parasite who seeks to live and 
thrive off the weaknesses and vices of his betters. 
Never again shall the observation of the Governor of 
North Carolina to the Governor of South Carolina be 
quoted as a wise, witty, and relevant remark; never 
again shall the black boy's dream of happiness be 
realized in the polishing of an unexpected pair of boots. 
If proselytism be the supremest joy of mankind, New 
England ought to be supremely happy. It is at length 
the aim of the Southron to out- Yankee the Yankees, to 
cut all the edges, and repair his losses by the success- 
ful emulation of Yankee thrift. Taking a long view 
of it, I am not sure it is best for the country, although, 
as matters stand, I know it to be better for the South. 



lOI 



MONEY AND MORALS* 

Last winter as I was about setting out to fill a round 
of lecture engagements I received a letter from an old 
friend of mine saying he had seen it stated in the news- 
papers that I was going to talk about money and morals 
and adding regretfully that, as he had very little of 
either, he would come and hear me. Let me hope that 
those of you who have done me the honor to come here 
to-night have not been drawn out by a similar state of 
destitution. Because, to be in the beginning entirely 
candid and confidential with you, it is not my purpose 
in undertaking a few guesses at truth touching those 
great forces of life and thought, to dwell overlong upon 
the economic aspects of the one, or the abstract relations 
of the other. Whatever may have been my offences in 
that regard, and on occasions past and gone, it is my 
present wish rather to avoid than to invite, or provoke, 
controversy; though, as a matter of fact, I do not be- 
lieve that, since the days of the bard who "wrote like 
an angel and talked like poor Poll," the man has lived 
who could argue a case better, or more to his own satis- 
faction — ^when there happened to be no one to listen to 



I02 



Money and Morals 

him, or to answer him — than I can myself. And yet, 
on the other hand, if we would only allow ourselves to 
see it, there is scarcely any question, public or private, 
which has not two sides to it, and on which some com- 
mon ground might not be found by the man who should 
seek honestly to ascertain the actual facts involved, and, 
although agreement as to conclusions might not always 
follow, certainly much of the bitterness of disagree- 
ment would be struck out of the record. 

Indeed, I am inclined to believe that we are, as a rule, 
nearest to being in the wrong when we are most positive 
and emphatic. It was, you will remember, William 
Lamb, afterward Lord Melbourne, who said: "I wish 
I could be as sure of anything as Tom Macaulay is of 
everything." The New England deacon on our own 
side of the water put this idea subjectively and wittily, 
when, coming out of church on a Sunday, he observed 
to the neighbor, between whom and himself there had 
been a coolness, "Brother Jones, after listening to the 
discourse of our beloved pastor to-day upon Christian 
charity, I think you and I ought to shake hands and be 
friends again. Now, as I can't give in, you must." 
That man was a humorist no less than a philosopher, 
and knew that he was, in reality, confessing himself to 
have been in the wrong. It is a thousand pities that 
humor, which is to philosophy what the dews of Heaven 
are to the earth, does not descend of tener into our hearts 
and minds, to moisten and soften what it finds there; 
103 



The Compromises of Life 

showing us through each reflecting globule and prism 
the pains we take to make ourselves and others 
wretched; and all in our own selfishness and conceit. 
And so, my friends, in what I am going to say to you 
to-night I shall at least not be pragmatical ; though, as I 
happen to have the floor, and can't give in, why, in case 
of disagreement, you must ! 

Take the map of North America and fix it in your 
mind's eye. Behold, what an empire! Caesar never 
looked upon the like. Napoleon, in his wildest dreams, 
conceived nothing so magnificent and vast. See how it 
takes up its line of travel with the North Star; how it 
coasts along the frozen seas of Alaska and Labrador; 
how it sweeps round the capes of the Newfoundland, 
losing itself a moment in the mist; how it skips, as it 
were, over His Majesty's Dominions, to deepen into the 
pine forests and granite hills of New England, with in- 
land oceans for its jewels and the great Niagara for its 
crown of diamonds; how it journeys in palace coaches 
and vestibule trains through the glorious North and the 
teeming South, until, dropping its rich fruitions into the 
Gulf Stream, it fades at last into a vision of Paradise 
under the Southern Cross, amid the silence and the soli- 
tude of eternal summer. What a wealth is here to 
elevate the mind ; to inspire the heart ; to make us proud 
of our country and ourselves ! What historic memories 
crowd every foot of the way, tracing the prowess of our 
land and race in the bones of heroes that reach to the 
104 



Money and Morals 

borders of the Polar mystery, to the bones of heroes that 
have enriched the soil of the Montezumas, marking, in 
peace and war, in the triumphs of the senate and the 
field, in the nobler achievements of the laboratory and 
the w^orkshop, the progress of a people who have already 
revolutionized the New World and put the Old to 
blush, and who are destined ultimately to absorb all the 
resources of the earth and air, and all the arts and pow- 
ers of man in his state of final and complete develop- 
ment. Is there anything to mar the prospect? Is 
there anything to dim the light, or to darken the scene? 
Is there anything across the great highway of the future 
to obstruct our march of triumph and glory as a nation 
and a people ? Yes, I think that there is ; and, recur- 
ring to my text, and still keeping money and morals in 
mind, nor yet forgetting our extradition treaties and 
our detective system, I answer without hesitation — 
Canada and Mexico. Yes, Canada and Mexico ; Can- 
ada, the ready asylum of gentlemen who have more 
money than legal right or moral title to it ; Mexico, the 
flowery home of gentlemen who, with or without 
money, have no morals to speak of. In other days, the 
gentleman possessed of an obliquity with respect to 
money, or the gentleman who had made himself re- 
sponsible for a funeral not sanctioned by morals, 
found an easy retreat on this side of the Rio Grande. 
You will remember that when the lawyer heard 
from his client the whole story of the homicide, 
105 



The Compromises of Life 

and advised the survivor to fly, the client was most 
indignant. 

"What, fly?" said he. "Ain't I already in Texas?" 
The Lone Star has deepened into forty-five stars 
since then ; so that now the excursionist who would 
escape the importunities of the sheriff and the blandish- 
ments of the court must put the Sierras betwixt himself 
and official civility, or else go to Canada direct, which, 
on account of its accessibility, I suppose, seems to have 
gained greatly of late in the favor of those tourists who 
disdain Cook's tickets and have no time to wait for pass- 
ports. And so it is that I use Canada and Mexico as 
geographic expressions of a thought that irresistibly calls 
up the genial defaulter and the able embezzler, to say 
nothing about the obliging but absconded cashier of the 
savings-bank, and the delightful custodian of the trust 
fund, that is, alas, no more ; and not, as terms of ill-will 
or offence toward those friendly neighbors who, as in 
the case of Texas before them, will one day rap at our 
outer gates for admission into our sisterhood of States. 
I am sure that there is no one here to-night, who is 
old enough to have invaded an apple orchard, or robbed 
a watermelon patch, who has not many a time reflected 
what a great thing it is to have plenty of money. All 
of us have turned that matter over in moments of reflec- 
tion, dejection, and embarrassment; in day-dreams, see- 
ing a fairy ship come home from India, and building 
castles in the air ofE the proceeds of the sale of the cargo ; 
1 06 



Money and Morals 

in those yet deeper and more disappointing dreams of 
the dead of night, when sleep has triumphed over toil 
and care, and the wheels of fancy, going round and 
round the darkened chamber, have revealed to us at last 
the lucky number in the phantom lottery. Who has 
not thought of the good he would do with it ; of how he 
would minister here to the wants of the poor and there 
to the needs of his friend? What spendthrift but has 
paid his debts off the usufruct of his visions? How 
many a wealthy beggar, a golden sorrow ever pressing 
about his heart, rich in dollars, though relatively poor — 
for money, like all things else in life except love and 
duty, is relative — how many a millionaire, encumbered 
by his possessions, yet unable to meet the demands of 
those inexorable creditors. Conscience, Thought & Co., 
but has wished a thousand times over that money was a 
vision, and only a vision ? 

I say that money is relative, and it is very relative. 
The man who has ten millions of dollars cuts a poor 
figure by the man who has two or three hundred 
millions of dollars; while the man who has only a 
measly million is, in the estimation of these, a kind of 
pauper. The man who has a hundred thousand dol- 
lars of income and a hundred and fifty thousand dollars 
of wants is worse off than the man who has nothing and 
wants his dinner. There are men, dwelling in the 
great money centres, who contrive to eke out a scanty 
livelihood on fifty thousand dollars a year, and who, 
107 



The Compromises of Life 

discounting the cost of living there and here, are unable 
to conceive how any man can possibly get on here for 
less than twenty-five thousand dollars a year ; whereas, 
I have an impression, that, if I should go out into this 
community with a search-warrant — even out into this 
audience, manifest as are its evidences of wealth and 
culture — I might be able to find a few persons who 
manage to make both ends meet on half that sum. 

But this is by no means all. Money is not only rela- 
tive; it is full of illusions and delusions. From the 
poor creature who is sure he will get it somehow, he 
doesn't know nor care much how, and who goes into 
debt on the strength of his expectations, to the poor 
creature who has no hope in particular, but who loves 
to talk about it ; from the wan woman in the attic, wait- 
ing for the letter that never comes, to the brave and 
honest lad by the furnace, who doubts not that the ham- 
mer in his hand is a wizard's wand — as it often is — and 
who never means to let it go until he has struck fortune 
out of the dregs and dross of the earth ; from the capi- 
talist in his counting-house, to whom money is now a 
master and now a slave, but always an attending geni, 
to the young fellow behind the counter who gets seven 
dollars a week for selling prints and playing baseball on 
Sundays ; yea, from the little maiden out-o'-doors, hang- 
ing up the clothes and singing her song o' sixpence — 

"Pocket full o' rye," 
io8 



Money and Morals 

to the Queen In her royal robes and in the kitchen, 
"Eating bread and honey" 

— prince, peasant, philosopher, statesman, and warrior, 
all of us have at one time or another had a touch from 
that fatal wand, which has brought so much happiness, 
and so much wretchedness into the world, and will con- 
tinue to do so as long as the world endures. 

For money is the first, greatest of the material facts 
of which life is composed; it is the pivot about which 
everything else revolves; the piston-rod that drives all 
else. Whether we take counsel of the New Testament 
and regard the love of it as "the root of all evil," or fall 
in with the cynicism of Heine that "money is god, and 
Rothschild is his prophet," no man can afford to disre- 
gard it, or to leave it out of his account. Bacon calls it 
"the baggage of virtue," but even he admits that, though 
it hindereth the march, "it cannot be spared, or left be- 
hind." It is the one thing universally used and abused ; 
universally coveted and reviled. All men affect to hold 
it lightly, and all men I am afraid secretly hanker after 
it. For my ow^n part — though not as a rule given to 
the Pharisaic mood — I am thankful to God that to me 
it has been at all times an instrument and not an end, 
and that, with debts paid and a shot in the locker, I 
would about as soon be myself as a gold mine, for all 
the further good that money can do me. Indeed, I was 
never happier in my life than when, to escape the 
109 



The Compromises of Life 

humiliation of borrowing from an uncle whose politics 
I did not approve, I went with my watch to an uncle 
who had no politics at all and got $50 on it, and I never 
knew what it was to be thoroughly unhappy, until I 
had acquired a considerable income, with its accumula- 
tion of wants, and was brought into close, personal inti- 
macy with those charming friends of the man who has 
what they call credit in bank, Mr. Promissory Note, 
and Messrs. Renewal, Discount & Co. 

Nevertheless, it is a good thing to have plenty of 
money, honestly obtained, and a still better thing if this 
money be honestly applied. The camel's passage 
through the needle's eye may have been easier in those 
old days than the rich man's entrance into the gates of 
Heaven — particularly if it happened to be a very small 
camel and a very large needle — and yet, on the other 
hand, there must have been many a rich man gone to 
Heaven, for we have the record of many a good one here 
on earth; men who have served God and loved their 
fellow-men ; and — 

"Given freely of their store 
To the needy and the poor." 

I should hate to think that money is a positive bar to 
salvation; and that it is an actual sin to seek and to 
gain much of it. But it is undoubtedly true, that it 
does harden and corrupt ten times to the one time that it 
elevates and softens. The man who trades in money is 
no 



Money and Morals 

apt to take on some of the brittleness of the metal of 
which it is composed. He gets in time to measure 
everything and everybody by that one metallic standard. 
It is his business constantly to think how he may rub 
two dollars together and make three of them, or better, 
four, or five, or six. Capital we are told is timid. That 
is because it has no heart in it. But it has eyes and ears, 
and makes up for its lack of courage by a craft that 
rarely trusts, except on good security, and never tires, 
except when the plate is passed, and is always suspicious 
and alert. How many a good fellow have I not known 
turned into a bad fellow by the possession of money; 
how many a generous fellow who has entered a bank all 
grace to come out all gall ; and how few the cases where 
money has enlarged the mind and amplified the soul. 

Our literature is full of illustrations, some of them 
humorous and some of them pathetic, showing the ills 
that wealth, particularly sudden wealth, has brought to 
individuals and to families. But we need not these 
fictitious examples. We are continually meeting in our 
daily walks and ways instances that point the moral and 
adorn the tale of great expectations come to naught by 
actilal realization and delightful visions of the fancy 
turned to ashes of dead-sea fruit in the hand of posses- 
sion. 

It is my belief that the world has been much misled 
by some of its best maxims, or, rather, let me say, by the 
misinterpretation of some of its most accepted maxims. 
Ill 



The Compromises of Life 

There is no one of these which appears in so many lan- 
guages, and puts itself in such a variety of phrase, as 
that which urges us to persevere in all things. Perse- 
verance, we are told, conquers all things. Then we are 
told that labor conquers all things. Then we are told 
that love conquers all things. Now perseverance will 
divert no man from the uses to which he was born; 
labor will not create out of a clod a painter, or a poet ; 
and love, for all its enchantments and powers, never yet 
made a silk purse out of a sow's ear, though sometimes 
very young people think so. Perseverance may apply 
itself to mistaken objects; and then it becomes vicious. 
Labor may be misdirected, and so be wasted. And, in 
seeking to conquer, love, like many other heroes, often 
falls a victim to its own excesses. How many a man 
has started out in the world, saying, "I will be a power, 
I will sacrifice everything to power," or, "I will be rich, 
I will sacrifice everything to riches," to find, before the 
journey was half over, not merely that no one of the 
material things of life brings happiness, but that happi- 
ness itself shifts its foot from time to time, that failing 
utterly to please or satisfy us at five-and-forty, which 
delighted us at five-and-twenty. Oftenest, the sacrifice 
is made to failure; but, even where success is attained, 
it fails somehow to bring us what we expected of it. 

An eminent public man once said to me in the pres- 
ence of a great domestic bereavement: "I got into the 
Senate of the United States when I was just turned 



Money and Morals 

thirty, and by an unusual act of perfidy and treason on 
the part of a supposed friend, lost my seat two or three 
years later. From that day to this, the last fifteen 
years, the sole end and object of my existence, my 
one aim in life, has been to get that seat back 
again. At last this wish has been fulfilled, and 
what does it matter after all?" I once heard a Presi- 
dent of the United. States say: "For twenty years I was 
a candidate for President. Every four years Pennsyl- 
vania sent a delegation to the National Convention to 
urge my nomination. Every four years we came away 
beaten and disappointed. Finally, when I had given it 
up, when it had ceased to be an object of ambition or 
desire with me, when all of the friends I loved and 
wanted to reward were dead, and most of the enemies 
I hated and had meant to punish were turned my 
friends, I was nominated and elected, and here I am, an 
old man, full of trials and troubles, with scarcely one 
joy in the world." 

You doubtless remember how Webster and Clay, at 
the very zenith of their eminence and fame, deplored 
their entrance into public life. They had, to the un- 
thinking multitude, achieved the greatest success, and 
were in possession of all that should accompany old 
age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends; but 
these things were valueless in their eyes. Each of them 
had set his heart on one object, the White House, and, 
failing of that, each saw himself a beaten and broken 
113 



The Compromises of Life 

old man, defeated in the race of life and cheated out of 
something he had brought himself to believe honestly 
belonged to him. A little while before his death, Mr. 
George D. Prentice said to me: "If Mr. Clay had been 
elected President he would have been the wretchedest 
man that ever lived, because he would have been proved 
the biggest liar that ever lived." "How was that, Mr. 
Prentice?" I asked. "Why, sir," the old journalist re- 
plied, "Mr. Clay was a candidate, an aspirant for the 
Presidency, during nearly thirty years. He was a 
warm, impulsive man, with a genius for making friends. 
Unconsciously he had plastered the public service over 
three plies deep with promises, real or implied — prom- 
ises which could not by any possibility be discharged. 
He was an honorable, generous, self-respecting man, and 
when these promises came to maturity and were pre- 
sented for payment, and he realized the situation, it 
would have embittered his life and broken his heart." 
There is a lesson, and a true one, for those who lament 
the loss of that which they cannot get, as it is a sermon 
against the overweening desire for any particular thing. 
You may trust me when I say I am so far sincere 
in believing self-repression in this regard true wisdom, 
that I rather think the young fellow who is very much 
in love with a girl and finds her very hard to get, had 
better let her go and seek him a wife elsewhere. There 
must be, away down in the feminine intuition, some 
potent reason impelling a woman to fly from the im- 
114 



Money and Morals 



portunities of a lover, and when at last, as the saying is, 
she marries him to get rid of him, he had best look to it. 

In short, and in fine, my argument is that we are 
constantly setting our heart and hope upon the posses- 
sion of some one of the tangible things of life, as office, 
or money, or an establishment, or a wife, thinking fail- 
ure therein failure in life, and success therein success in 
life, when, if we could know the truth in advance, that 
is the very object from which we should start back 
with horror. ^ ,, 

Success in life is happiness. The successful man, 'H^ * ^ifil^^ 
the happy man is the man who believes his old wife the ■ :^;fi^"^* 
loveliest woman in the world, the vine-covered cottage 
he calls his home the dearest spot on earth, and who 
wouldn't swap his ragged, red-headed, freckled-face 
brats for the best-looking and best-dressed kids of the 
proudest of his neighbors. Men in their places are the 
men who stand. The material, the tangible things of 
life, essential as they are under right conditions to hap- 
piness and comfort, do not, of themselves, bring happi- 
ness and comfort. Millions of money will not save a 
sensitive man from the tortures of a sore toe. Infinite 
fame will not save a proud man from the torments of a 
debt he is unable to pay. I repeat that success in life 
is happiness, and its seat is in the heart and mind ; not 
in the stomach or the pocket. 

And this brings me to what I was saying awhile ago 
about Canada and Mexico. Let us recur to them, or, 
115 



The Compromises of Life 

rather, to some of our late neighbors and friends who 
have found those countries so attractive that they have 
gone to pay them indefinite visits. 

Do you know that for many of those men I have 
a sympathy which I cannot repress, and would not re- 
press if I could? I don't believe that every man who 
has come short of his accounts is necessarily a scoundrel. 
I don't believe that every refugee must needs be a thief 
at heart. I believe that in many cases there was no 
original purpose to steal, and, in many other cases, if all 
the facts could be got at, it would be found that down 
to the very hour of flight there was an honest purpose, 
even an honest effort, to repair the wrong done in the 
heat of sanguine expectation or the recklessness of de- 
spair. In cases of official delinquency how often the 
first false step arose from the official's failure to keep 
his public and private accounts separate and distinct. 
Of a sudden he discovers a discrepancy. He promises 
himself to make this good. A year passes. The gap is 
wider still. He takes a risk. This fails, of course. 
Then he loses his head. And then he makes the fatal 
plunge, and down he goes into the vortex. 

How many breaches of trust begin in those good in- 
tentions with which that very hot place with the very 
short name is supposed to be paved. Indeed, the gam- 
bling mania, in some form or other, seems to be well- 
nigh universal, and the gambler never expects to lose. 
There is always before his mind's eye the mirage of that 
ii6 



Money and Morals 

capital prize in the lottery of life, or that winning hand 
in the game of his choice. Even among those who 
habitually play for money, it has been observed that 
they laugh when they win and swear when they lose, 
just as if it was not a certainty, when they sat down at 
table, that they must inevitably either do the one thing 
or the other, eliminating from the proceeding any possi- 
ble surprise. One would fancy that such persons ought 
to be more stoical. But it is not so. Each sitting is to 
them as though it were their last, and, as no man delib- 
erately plays to lose, he is correspondingly angry when 
he fails to win. But what a fatal mistake is made by 
that man who lays his hand upon a dollar he cannot 
honestly call his own. 

And I know something about that myself. When 
I was a lad I had an experience which has lasted me a 
lifetime. I was elected by my schoolmates one of the 
editors of the periodical of our literary society, and by 
successive re-elections, term after term, the entire man- 
agement of that ambitious serial at length came into my 
hands. I was editor and managing editor and secretary 
and treasurer — a bad combination wherever it is found. 
Well, one day — of course, it was at the precise moment 
when I was required to make my official report — it 
always happens so — I discovered that I lacked four dol- 
lars and fifty cents of money enough to balance my 
books. I must either get that money or falsify those 
books. Well, I did not have the money — I had spent 
117 



The Compromises of Life 

it. I had not only spent it, but had overdrawn my own 
private account. I was simply aghast. After lying 
awake a whole night in alternate anguish and specula- 
tion, I rose in the morning haggard but resolute. I 
went directly to the guardian angel who had charge of 
my fiscal affairs and made a clean breast of it. 

"And what is the amount of this defalcation?" says 
he. 

"Four dollars and fifty cents," I gasped. 

I remember to this day, I can see at this moment, 
the half queer, half threatening expression that came 
over those kindly, weather-bronzed features as, hand- 
ing me a check, he said : 

"There, my boy; there are five dollars. It is an 
ugly piece of business. Don't let it ever happen again." 

And it never has. 

Among those persons who appropriate to their own 
use money that does not belong to them, seeking those 
dark-alley short-cuts to fortune that end in disgrace, it 
has always seemed to me that they are the worst who 
masquerade as pillars of the church or pose as models of 
commercial integrity and virtue. Such a man not only 
robs those who have trusted him and believed in him, 
adding hypocrisy to felony, but he commits an even 
greater moral crime by the shock he inflicts upon our 
common faith in human nature. 

I recall a curious episode of this kind which happened 
a few years ago in the directory of a bank in one of our 
ii8 



Money and Morals 

great cities. A certain member of the board was found 
to have duplicated warehouse receipts to a considerable 
amount borrowed of the bank on those collaterals. His 
friends raised the money, paid the notes, and the matter 
was hushed up. Not, however, without the earnest 
protest of two of the delinquent's colleagues, who 
thought, or who said they thought, it compromising 
with crime — that it was not fair — to allow such a 
scamp to be turned loose on an unsuspecting community. 
Finally, however, their moral susceptibility yielded to 
entreaty and they acquiesced in the concealment. Less 
than a year later one of these gentlemen fled to Mexico, 
leaving behind him a hundred thousand dollars' worth 
of duplicated warehouse receipts. His surviving part- 
ner in morality was indignant beyond expression. He 
went about wringing his hands, rolling his eyes and 
stigmatizing the villany right and left. Six months 
later this gentleman's turn came round. He ran away 
to Canada, leaving behind him half a million of money 
raised on bogus security. And, now what do you sup- 
pose came to pass? Why, the original sinner — the 
man who, though so vehemently denounced, had been 
saved by the generosity of his friends and the silence of 
the bank — once more a prosperous merchant — actually 
served as foreman of the grand jury that indicted the 
other two ! 

Hypocrisy, we are told by the witty Frenchman, is 
the homage vice pays to virtue. It is also the mask 
119 



The Compromises of Life 

behind whose smug features pretended virtue seeks to 
work off her self-righteous shams. Nor Is it an exclu- 
sive possession of the criminal classes. ^ We encounter 
it in the best society, setting up for at lady of fashion ; 
in the church, setting up for a philanthropist; in the 
Board of Trade, setting up for a most enterprising 
patriot. Which of us has not had his fingers burned 
by corner lots bought in cities that never were and 
never will be in the name of development and public 
spirit, to find no relief in watered stock, no matter how 
coolly and copiously that may have been appllec^? 
Which of us does not recall the obliging friend, who, 
if it is any accommodation to us, will let us in upon 
the ground-floor of a financial edifice, having three or 
four cellars beneath it, and laid, at bottom. In a cave 
of winds ? Which of us has not his hard-luck story to 
tell of the neighbor, having an infinite deal of horse- 
sense and an Illimitable knowledge of horse-flesh, with 
his Inevitable "tip" as to the ''sure winner" In the com- 
ing race? 

But, and more's the pity, there be hypocrisy and 
hypocrisy. There is a kind of hypocrisy that goes 
maundering through the world mistaking itself for 
virtue and never finding itself out. And then there 
is a hypocrisy that springs rather from cowardice than 
fraud, and that is to be pitied. How many a man has 
lied to save appearances, who might as well have told 
the truth and gone about his business. The only hon- 
120 



Money and Morals 

est hypocrites, Hazlftt reminds us, are the play-actors 
who change their characters with every performance, 
wearing the robes of a king to-day, and the rags of a 
'beggar to-morrow. Nay, the woods are full of hypo- 
crites, unconscious hardly less than conscious; pious 
hypocrites, who deceive themselves more than they de- 
ceive anybody else, to end at last in the ditch ; bullying 
hypocrites, who, like poor Acres, really fancy they can 
fight, until brought to shame by their own folly. In 
the great Credit Mobilier scandals it was not so much 
the ownership of stock that brought the disgraces, as 
the denial of it. 

Each age has its idiosyncrasy. We speak of the 
golden age, of the iron age, and so forth. Each coun- 
try has its virtues and its vices ; its crown of glory and 
its crown of thorns. Find out a nation's sin and you 
shall know that nation's danger. As for ourselves, we 
should be most concerned for our own. Never mind 
about Europe, about Asia, about Africa, what is the 
matter with America ? That is the question for us to 
ponder unceasingly, to investigate with an enlightened 
self-accusing sense of justice without fear or favor, 
seeking to decide it fairly. 

What, then, is the trouble with us? Is it the 
failure of our municipal methods and processes to 
give efficient and good government to our great cities? 
That is a menace to our centres of population. 
But I hardly think it far-reaching enough to bode na- 

121 



The Compromises of Life 

tional ruin. Is it the race question at the South? 
That, too, is a great peril to the people who live there. 
It is a problem, the solution of which the wisest have 
not been able to compass ; the end of which the most sa- 
gacious cannot see. I know so much about it that I long 
ago ceased to theorize at all. My hope and faith are 
embarked in one direction only; in a process of evolu- 
tion involving the elevation and education of both 
races ; and in a simple, childlike trust in God, who can 
raise up as He has cast down, and who doeth all things 
well. Is it the labor question, the social question, the 
question of free and fair elections? I think not so 
organically. In a democratic republic, where all things 
are open to all men, there can never be any general 
motive or occasion for a resort to combustible agencies 
and revolutionary expedients. Left to the operation of 
our electoral and representative machinery, those ques- 
tions ought in time to settle themselves. We are not 
shut in by feudal bonds and tenures, the bursting of 
which means blood and terror. We are not the slaves 
of custom, bound to class distinction and artificial con- 
vention, which, growing obsolete, can only be annihi- 
lated by dynamite in the hands of anarchy. The poor- 
est babe that steals timidly and unnoticed into the world 
by the back door has the same chance of becoming Presi- 
dent of the United States with the richest that ever 
shook its tiny fists at the announcing heralds, or pulled 
the whiskers of its millionaire paternity. Agrarianism 

122 



Money and Morals 

has no place here. Against the pick-axe of the leveller 
and the brand of the incendiary we may safely leave 
.the result, under God, v^ith the noiseless snowfall of 
ballots, which soon or late will swallow up the political 
organism that is persistently and consciously faithless to 
its duty. 

Someone may be disposed to ask me whether the 
greatest evil that threatens us is not the tarifE? Well, 
my friends, that old sinner has been sinning a long time, 
I do admit; and he is a verj^ tough and a very smooth 
citizen, into the bargain. He has grown very rich and 
very proud, and wears a mighty ruffle to his shirt, and 
a great watch-fob dangling by his capacious stomach. 
He makes himself exceedingly active and aggravating 
about election time, and is at all times more or less self- 
complacent and boastful, blind of one eye and deaf in 
one ear, though seeing more and hearing more than is 
good for anybody to see and hear, because half of what 
he knows is not true, while, as to the other half, it were 
best forgotten. But I do not despair even of our dear, 
delightful, audacious old friend. High Tariff. He has 
had a good deal of fat fried out of him latterly, and is 
not nearly so stout as he was. I know what I am talk- 
ing about when I tell you that he has recently been 
caught taking more than one furtive look into the sweet 
face of that star-eyed divinity, who has, from the first, 
stretched out her hands to save, and not to hurt, him, 
and I have thought I observed upon those stern, iron- 
123 



The Compromises of Life 

clad features of his a certain pleased expression, if not 
an actual smirk. No, no ; I am not in the least afraid 
of the tariff. That will come round all right; and, 
meanwhile, no matter how high you build it, I can live 
under it and enjoy myself as long and as much as the 
rest can. 

Indeed, I am afraid of no single political issue at this 
moment parcelling the people out on the right and on 
the left within party lines. Speaking as a philosopher, 
and in a historic spirit, the entire present stock in trade 
of both our parties, of all our parties, makes up the sum 
of what I call rather small politics. There has never 
been a time in the history of the country where there 
was less cause for apprehension from the drift and tenor 
of current partisan contention. The difiFerences that 
disturb us are trifles as light as air, compared with the 
dangers and difficulties which distressed our grand- 
fathers, our fathers, and those of us who are old enough 
to remember times that did, indeed, "try men's souls." 

I have, in my own day, seen the republic outlast an 
irrepressible conflict sown in the blood and marrow of 
the social order. I have seen the Federal Union, not 
too strongly put together in the first place, come out of 
a great war of sections stronger than when it went into 
it, its faith renewed, its credit rehabilitated, and its 
flag flying in triumph and honor over sixty millions of 
God-fearing men and women, thoroughly reconciled 
and homogeneous. I have seen the Constitution of the 
124 



Money and Morals 

United States survive the strain, not merely of a recon- 
structory ordeal and a Presidential impeachment, but 
pf a disputed count of the electoral vote, a Congres- 
sional deadlock, and an extra constitutional tribunal, 
yet, standing as firm as a rock against the assaults of 
its enemies, yielding itself w^ith admirable flexibility to 
the needs of the country and the time. And, finally, I 
saw the gigantic fabric of the Federal Government 
transferred from hands that had held it for a quarter 
of a century to other hands without so much as a pro- 
test or a bloody nose, though the fight at the finish had 
been so close a single blanket might have covered both 
contestants for the Chief Magisterial office. He who 
has seen these things, who has borne his part in the 
awful responsibilities pressing from day to day on all 
men, bringing with each night a terror with every 
thought of the morrow, is not going to lose much sleep 
about what is now going on at Washington, or whether 
Bill Jones's pension is increased a dollar or a dollar 
and a half a week, or the duty on slip-ups is altered 
from forty-two specific to thirty-seven and one-half ad 
valorem. Certainly, we want to be frugal in our ex- 
penditures, just in our appropriations, and otherwise 
careful of the people's money. We want to go slow in 
the matter of new legislation and innovations of every 
sort. But parties are too evenly balanced, and the 
issues that divide them arise too much out of questions 
of mere expediency, or local, or selfish, or party interest 
125 



The Compromises of Life 

to excite any man unduly unless he wants an office, and 
wants it bad. 

The history of a hundred years of Constitutional 
Government in America — the story and the moral les- 
son of all our parties — may be summed up in a single 
sentence: That when any political society in this coun- 
try thinks it has the world in a sling, public opinion 
just rears back upon its hind legs and kicks it out. The 
real danger before us — a danger having its sources 
deeply laid in the roots of human nature — peculiarly 
fostered by our peculiar structure — the Damocles sword 
perpetually hanging above us — is a moral danger, and 
it springs directly from the relation of money to the 
moral nature of the people. 

We have no great aristocratic titles, or patents of 
nobility; and the simplest standard is the money stand- 
ard. "Put money in thy purse" seems to have become 
a national motto. If this limited itself to fiscal, or 
even commercial, pursuits, it might not be so bad. But 
we find it everywhere. From the ten-thousand-a-year 
pulpit to the hundred-thousand-dollar seat in the Sen- 
ate of the United States, the trail of the trade-mark is 
over us all. I remember some doggerel verses which 
went the rounds of the newspapers when I was a boy, 
and, though I have not seen them in print from that 
day to this, I can still recall a few of them. They had 
some relevancy then; how much greater their applica- 
tion now. They rattled off somewhat in this wise : 
126 



Money and Morals 

"As with cautious step we tread our way through 
This intricate world as other folks do, 
May we each on his journey be able to view 
The benevolent face of a dollar or two ; 
The gospel is preached 
For a dollar or two; 
Salvation is reached 

For a dollar or two ; 
You may sin sometimes, 
But the worst of all crimes 
Is to find yourself short 
Of a dollar or two !" 

And so on for quantity. But how true it was and it 
is! How ready we are to forgive the sins of the rich, 
to forget how they got their money, to stick our feet 
under their mahogany, to eat of their food and drink of 
their wine ! How little of the old, primitive morality, 
with its fine distinction of right and wrong, remains to 
our great cities! What a struggle it is to get money 
for money's sake alone. Money, money, nothing but 
money! When old Agassiz was offered a thousand 
dollars a lecture for a hundred consecutive lectures, and 
turned away from the tempter, saying: "Oh, go along 
with you ! What time have I to waste on money-mak- 
ing," there were those who thought he was bereft of his 
senses. Would to God we had an Agassiz or two in 
every community throughout this land! But honor- 
able poverty seems to have become one of the lost arts. 
Fame without money is left to second-rate aspirants. 
The genius of the country is no longer engaged upon 
127 



The Compromises of Life 

works of patriotic devotion, on works of the imagina- 
tion, on works of humble piety. It is engaged in busi- 
ness, in commerce, in constructive enterprises, in devel- 
opment in money-making. The young fellow with a 
head on his shoulders and a heart in his bosom turns his 
back upon public life, and takes to that which pays 
surest and best cash in hand. *'I cannot," he says to 
himself, "afford to surrender freedom and affluence at 
home to take poverty and slavery at Washington, to go 
to Congress for five thousand a year, when I can make 
five-and-twenty in an office which costs me nothing to 
get and to keep, and of which I am master. I will 
make my fortune first, and then, if I have a mind to, I 
can buy me a seat in the Senate of the United States." 
Sensible man, perhaps, though, at this rate, how long 
shall it be before we have crushed all generous man- 
hood beneath this hard, metallic load and come out of 
the struggle for wealth a nation of the merest money- 
changers? It is certain that we can carry none of it 
with us when we go hence ; and, when we are required 
by the Master to give an account of our stewardship, 
what shall it profit us if we point to our hoarded 
millions and exclaim, "There, dear Lord"? Believe 
me, there is more happiness to be got of the coining of 
one kind thought in this world, and at the same time a 
surer correspondence with the world to come, than may 
be extracted from a mint of money. 

I am far from believing that the happiest people are 
128 



Money and Morals 

the poorest. But no more are the richest. The dolor 
of the one and the ennui of the other have passed 
into a proverb. Yet there is no country in the 
world quite so happy, and yet relatively quite so 
poor, as Switzerland. There, and I am afraid there 
only, shall we find the ideal Jeffersonian Democracy. 
The government is simple and frugal. The officials 
are paid barely their living, and elections being annual, 
there is no motive for corruption. They are held, in 
fact, in the churches, and on Sunday. One of the 
greatest of modern Swiss statesmen, a man who had 
been many times President of the republic, died in a 
dingy little apartment at Berne, and after his death it 
was discovered that, to obtain the needful medicines and 
comforts during his last illness, he had pawned a service 
of silver, presented him by the government of the 
United States for his invaluable counsels as our referee 
at the Geneva Conference. There was a brave, a pure, 
and a poor man for you ; one who scorned to beg as he 
would have scorned to steal, going confidently to his 
God without so much as a franc to pay Charon his fer- 
riage across the stream. 

Diogenes, seeking an honest man, might in the his- 
tory of the Irish Union come up with a parallel case in 
poor old Hussey Bergh, who refused all the gold that 
England could offer him, abandoned the borough of 
Kilmainham, for which he sat, and which the British 
Ministry guaranteed him for life, voted against the bill 
129 



The Compromises of Life 

which robbed his country of its freedom, and was found 
dead in his bed, with sixpence on the mantel and a 
paper on which was scrawled: "Ireland forever and be 
damn'd to Kilmainham !" 

They don't do political business that way nowadays, , 
except in that Alpine fortalice of freedom and virtue, of 
which I was speaking. The humble Switzer, in his 
chalet by the mountain side, with barely enough to sus- 
tain life, and not a sou to spare, is the happiest man in 
the world. There is no country on earth which illus- 
trates so vividly the truth of Goldsmith's inspired 
couplet — 

"111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay," 

for Switzerland is no richer now than it was five hun- 
dred years ago, while the men who in 1870 mustered 
on the Swiss frontier to warn off the warring French 
and Germans from the desecration of Swiss soil were as 
rugged and as valiant as the men who followed Rudolph 
von Erlach across the German border to victory and in- 
dependence, and rallied by the side of Arnold von Win- 
kelred, at Sempach, against the combined hordes of 
Burgundy and Austria, away back when the world was 
putting on its jack-boots and the centuries but begin- 
ning their teens. I stand with head uncovered, rever- 
ently, in the presence of these poor, proud, and brave 
mountaineers ; and have sometimes thought that, if ever 
130 



Money and Morals 

I should become an exile from my own country, there 
is the one spot in the world where I might live with 
some sort of happiness and contentment. 

But enough of this. To come back to our own time 
and country, let us cast about us and see where we 
stand ; let us sum up the case, as it were, and, consider- 
ing the point from which we started, let us take counsel 
of the past and the present, and, by the light thus sup- 
plied, let us try and look into the future. 

With the money standards so high and the moral 
standards so low, the pessimist may not unreasonably 
ask what hope for us there is in the outlook. There is 
much hope in spite of all that has been said, and all that 
may be said, as to the darker side of the picture. That 
hope lies in the better development of the national char- 
acter and in the more complete realization of the ideals 
embraced by our national institutions. 

I have always believed in the power, and in the ulti- 
mate triumph, of moral forces and organized ideas, and 
shall never surrender that belief to the claim that there 
is more of bad than of good in human nature. I am 
something of a Methodist in the conceit that, under the 
benign influence of intelligence and morality, we are 
perpetually and steadily going on from grace to grace 
toward perfection, and, though we may not reach the 
halcyon days predicted, I believe, to come in the twen- 
tieth century, by a recent fable — at least, not until we 
have reached the millennium promised us by an older 
131 



The Compromises of Life 

and, as I conceive, a more reliable prophecy — ^yet I think 
there are hundreds of years of grandeur and glory be- 
fore us as a nation and as a people. 

There was never a people so happily situate as we; 
never a country so blessed. We are masters of the 
greatest, the most fruitful, and varied of the continents. 
We are so strong that we need fear no assaults from 
without. We inherit a system of government as nearly 
perfect as the genius of man can devise ; a system which 
is slowly but surely drawing to itself all the nations of 
the earth. Of political dangers there is but one to 
threaten us ; and that is the spirit of party. Of moral 
dangers only one; and that is the love of money. 
Finding these sinister forces, intolerance and avarice, 
united in a single presence, I gave this a name some 
years ago, which seems to have stuck to it. I called it 
the Money Devil. And this Money Devil is the lion 
right across the highway of our future, standing just at 
the fork of the roads, one of which leads up the heights 
of national fame and glory, the other down into the 
depths of the plutocracy, which yawns before us, open- 
ing its ponderous jaws and licking its bloody lips to 
swallow all that is great and noble in our national life. 
Already it costs a million of dollars to set a Presidential 
ticket in the field, already a hundred thousand dollars 
to sustain a contest for a seat in the Senate of the United 
States ; how long shall it be before our public men be- 
come a race of Medician princes without the learning, 
132 



Money and Morals 

or the arts of Florence, the Presidential chair itself a 
mere commodity to be auctioned off to the highest bid- 
der? Beware of that Money Devil! Beware of the 
man who puts his party above his country, his pocket 
above his conscience. 

I shall not undertake in this place to dwell upon the 
evils of party spirit. All of us know what they are. 
Nor are we required to be false to our party to be true 
to our country, false to our interests to be true to our 
convictions. By all means let every man act upon his 
beliefs and live up to them. But let him not think 
more of himself or love his neighbor less, because that 
neighbor, exercising the same right, does the same thing. 
I need not dwell, either, upon the evils that attend the 
struggle for wealth. If the roofs could be lifted off the 
palaces of the rich, what sights might not be seen, what 
skeletons in the closets, what rats behind the arras, 
what sorrows, and what shams? In case you wish to 
read a sure-enough tragedy, peruse the personal history 
of Wall Street. There was a time when it had a 
graveyard all its own in which were chiefly laid its sui- 
cides. Oddly enough, that melancholy cul-de-sac starts 
out from a graveyard, to end in a deep and mighty 
stream; fit emblem of mystery and death. Turn we, 
all of us, to the brighter side of the page, on which is 
inscribed that blessed legend, "Do thou unto others as 
thou wouldst that others should do unto you." There- 
in lies the whole secret of human happiness. Of all the 
133 



The Compromises of Life 

great speeches which Shakespeare has put into the 
mouths of his heroes none seems to me to bear with it 
so much wisdom and comfort as the words addressed 
by Wolsey to the one lone follower who survived 
his fall: 

"Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition. 
By that sin fell the angels ; how then can man, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? 
Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; 
Corruption wins not more than honesty ; 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace 
To silence envious tongues; be just and fear not; 
Let all the ends thou aimest at be thy country's. 
Thy God's and truth's; then if fallest thou, O Crom- 
well! 
Thou fallest a blessed martyr!" 

There is an epitome of all the world has to give and 
to take away, done by one who had trod every path of 
glory, and sounded all the depths of honor, to find, 
when it was too late, how w^ak is the strength 
of pride, how poor, how ignoble the power of 
money. We must cast forth the devil of party spirit, 
and kill the Money Devil outright, if we are to reach 
the summit of our destiny. The statesmanship which 
is to lead us thither must address itself somewhat more 
to the moral nature of the people ; it must seek, indeed, 
to unite tradition and progress, going forward at all 
times, but never forgetting the humble homespun 
sources of our being as a nation and as a people. 
134 



Money and Morals 

If I were delivering a sermon to the people of New 
England I would say to them : "Because you have struck 
these rocks with the force of a genius and a virtue 
which nobody denies, and made them to blossom like 
the rose, don't imagine that there is no other genius, 
no other virtue in the world. Go down South and 
bathe in the sunshine you shall find there! Soften 
some of the harder fibres ! Lop off some of the brittle 
edges! Take a lesson, or two, from the old-time 
planter's simplicity, honor, and truth. You will feel 
the better and be the better for doing so." And, if 
I were delivering a sermon to those same planters of 
the South, I would say to them: "Gentlemen, all this 
clinging to a personal and social superiority, which 
does not exist, is sheer folly and pride. The Yankees 
are just as good as you are, and in many things they 
know a great deal better than you do how to get on in 
the world. Take a turn among them. Look into their 
domestic economies, rejecting nothing on account of its 
trade-mark. Send some of your boys up there to school 
and let them learn how to work for a living. In many 
cases, it will be merely a revisitation of the home of 
their forefathers, for many of the greatest families of the 
South trace back their origin to the blood and loins of 
the Pilgrim Fathers." 

Thus would I revitalize and blend the good that is 
in one section with the good that is in the other section, 
bringing both to a better comprehension of the truth 
135 



The Compromises of Life 

that we are the most homogeneous people on the face of 
the globe, differing in nothing except in external char- 
acteristics and local habits ; and thus would I lure our 
great Republic away from the pitfalls that engulfed old 
Rome, and plant it anew upon the sure foundations of 
morality and manhood, the only genuine sources of a 
nation's wealth. 

And now, my friends, I am done. I have said 
my say. I entreat you to take these things in 
heart and mind, believing them the honest emana- 
tions of one who has travelled far and wide in this 
great land of ours. I have been in every State and 
Territory of the Union, and have yet to go away from 
one of them where I had not found something to make 
me proud of my country. And when you go hence to- 
night, whatever else you may be proud of, be proudest 
of all that each and every one of us is an American 
citizen. All of us may not sit in the high places. 
All of us may not get the capital prizes. But 
there is no one among us, however lowly his lot, who 
cannot be happy — a better citizen and a more prosper- 
ous man because he is happy — loving work for work's 
sake and his own work for its own sake — and along the 
entire journey from the cradle to the grave, finding — 

"Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 



136 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN* 

The statesmen in knee-breeches and powdered wigs 
who signed the Declaration of Independence and 
framed the Constitution — the soldiers in blue-and-buff, 
top-boots, and epaulets who led the armies of the Revo- 
lution — were what we are wont to describe as gentle- 
men. They were English gentlemen. They were not 
all, nor even generally, scions of the British aristocracy ; 
but they came, for the most part, of good Anglo-Saxon 
and Scotch-Irish stock. 

The shoe-buckle and the ruffled shirt worked a spell 
peculiarly their own. They carried with them an air 
of polish and authority. Hamilton, though of obscure 
birth and small stature, is represented by those who 
knew him to have been dignity and grace personified; 
and old Ben Franklin, even in woollen hose, and none 
too courtier-like, was the delight of the great nobles 
and fine ladies, in whose company he made himself as 
much at home as though he had been born a marquis. 

When we revert to that epoch the beauty of the scene 
which history unfolds is marred by little that is un- 
■'^ Lincoln Union, Auditorium, Chicago, February 12, 1895. 



The Compromises of Life 

couth, by nothing that is grotesque. The long proces- 
sion passes, and we see in each group, in every figure, 
something of heroic proportion. John Adams and 
John Hancock, Joseph Warren and Samuel Adams, 
the Livingstons in New York, the CarroUs in Mary- 
land, the Masons, the Randolphs, and the Pendletons 
in Virginia, the Rutledges in South Carolina — what 
pride of caste, what elegance of manner, what dignity 
and dominancy of character! And the soldiers! 
Israel Putnam and Nathanael Greene, Ethan Allen 
and John Stark, Mad Anthony Wayne and Light 
Horse Harry Lee, and Morgan and Marion and Sum- 
ter, gathered about the immortal Washington — Puri- 
tan and Cavalier so mixed and blended as to be indis- 
tinguishable the one from the other — where shall we 
go to seek a more resplendent galaxy of field-marshals? 
Surely not to Blenheim, drinking beakers to Marlbor- 
ough after the famous victory; nor yet to the silken 
marquet of the great Conde on the Rhine, bedizened 
with gold lace and radiant with the flower of the no- 
bility of France! Ah, me! there were gentlemen in 
those days ; and they made their influence felt upon life 
and thought long after the echoes of Bunker Hill and 
Yorktown had faded away, long after the bell over 
Independence Hall had ceased to ring. 

The first half of the Republic's first half-century of 
existence the public men of America, distinguished for 
many things, were chiefly and almost universally dis- 

138 



Abraham Lincoln 

tinguished for repose of bearing and sobriety of be- 
havior. It was not until the institution of African 
slavery had got into politics as a vital force that Con- 
gress became a bear-garden, and that our law-makers, 
laying aside their manners with their small-clothes, fell 
into the loose-fitting habiliments of modern fashion and 
the slovenly jargon of partisan controversy. The 
gentlemen who signed the Declaration and framed the 
Constitution were succeeded by gentlemen — much like 
themselves — but these were succeeded by a race of party 
leaders much less decorous and much more self-confi- 
dent; rugged, puissant; deeply moved in all that they 
said and did, and sometimes turbulent; so that finally, 
when the volcano burst forth flames that reached the 
heavens, great human bowlders appeared amid the glare 
on every side ; none of them much to speak of according 
to rules regnant at St. James and Versailles; but vigor- 
ous, able men, full of their mission and of themselves, 
and pulling for dear life in opposite directions. 

There were Seward and Sumner and Chase, Corwin 
and Ben Wade, Trumbull and Fessenden, Hale and 
Collamer and Grimes, and Wendell Phillips, and Hor- 
ace Greeley, our latter-day Franklin. There were 
Toombs and Hammond, and Slidell and Wigfall, and 
the two little giants, Douglas and Stephens, and Yan- 
cey and Mason, and Jefferson Davis. With them 
soft words buttered no parsnips, and they cared little 
how many pitchers might be broken by rude ones. The 
139 



The Compromises of Life 

issue between them did not require a diagram to explain 
it. It was so simple a child might understand. It 
read, human slavery against human freedom, slave labor 
against free labor, and involved a conflict as inevitable 
as it was irrepressible. 

Long before the guns of Beauregard opened fire upon 
Fort Sumter, and, fulfilling the programme of extrem- 
ism, "blood was sprinkled in the faces of the people," 
the hustings in America had become a battle-ground, 
and every rood of debatable territory a ring for contro- 
versial mills, always tumultuous, and sometimes san- 
guinary. No sooner had the camp-fires of the Revolu- 
tion — ^which warmed so many noble hearts and lighted 
so many patriotic lamps — no sooner had the camp- 
fires of the Revolution died out, than there began to 
burn, at first fitfully, then to blaze alarmingly in every 
direction, a succession of forest fires, bafiling the ener- 
gies and resources of the good and brave men who 
sought to put them out. Mr. Webster, at once a 
learned jurist and a prose poet, might thunder exposi- 
tions of the written law, to quiet the fears of the slave- 
owner and to lull the waves of agitation. Mr. Clay, 
by his resistless eloquence and overmastering person- 
ality, might compromise first one and then another of 
the irreconcilable conditions that threw themselves 
across the pathway of conservative statesmanship. To 
no purpose, except to delay the fatal hour. 

There were moving to the foreground moral forces 
140 



Abraham Lincoln 

which would down at no man's bidding. The still, 
small voice of emancipation, stifled for a moment by 
self-interest playing upon the fears of the timid, recov- 
ered its breath and broke into a cry for abolition. The 
ciy for abolition rose in volume to a roar. Slowly, 
step by step, the forces of freedom advanced to meet 
the forces of slavery. Gradually, these mighty, dis- 
cordant elements approached the predestined line of 
battle; the gains for a while seeming to be in doubt, 
but in reality all on one side. There was less and less 
of middle-ground. The middle-men who ventured to 
get in the way were either struck down or absorbed by 
the one party or the other. The Senate had its Gettys- 
burg; and many and many a Shiloh was fought on the 
floor of the House. Actual war raged in Kansas. 
The mysterious descent upon Harper's Ferry, like a 
fire-bell in the night, might have warned all men of the 
coming conflagration ; might have revealed to all men 
a prophecy in the lines that, quoted to describe the 
scene, foretold the event — 

"The rock-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of 

blood. 
And Echo there, whatever is asked her, answers: 

'Death.' " 

Greek was meeting Greek at last; and the field of 
politics became almost as sulphurous and murky as an 
actual field of battle. 

141 



The Compromises of Life 

Amid the noise and confusion, the clashing of intel- 
lects like sabres bright, and the booming of the big ora- 
torical guns of the North and the South, now definitely 
arrayed, there came one day into the Northern camp 
one of the oddest figures imaginable; the figure of a 
man who, in spite of an appearance somewhat at outs 
with Hogarth's line of beauty, wore a serious aspect, 
if not an air of command, and, pausing to utter a single 
sentence that might be heard above the din, passed on 
and for a moment disappeared. The sentence was preg- 
nant with meaning. The man bore a commission from 
God on high! He said: "A house divided against it- 
self cannot stand. I believe this Government cannot 
endure permanently half free and half slave. I do not 
expect the Union to be dissolved; I do not expect the 
house to fall; but I do expect it will cease to be 
divided." He was Abraham Lincoln. 

How shall I describe him to you ? Shall I speak of 
him as I first saw him immediately on his arrival in the 
national capital, the chosen President of the United 
States, his appearance quite as strange as the story of 
his life, which was then but half known and half told, 
or shall I use the words of another and a more graphic 
word-painter ? 

In January, 1861, Colonel A. K. McClure, of Penn- 
sylvania, journeyed to Springfield, 111., to meet and 
confer with the man he had done so much to elect, but 
whom he had never personally known. "I went di- 
142 



Abraham Lincoln 

rectly from the depot to Lincoln's house," says Colonel 
McClure, "and rang the bell, which was answered by 
Lincoln himself opening the door. I doubt whether I 
wholly concealed my disappointment at meeting him. 
Tall, gaunt, ungainly, ill-clad, with a homeliness of 
maner that was unique in itself, I confess that my heart 
sank within me as I remembered that this was the man 
chosen by a great nation to become its ruler in the 
gravest period of its history. I remember his dress as if 
it were but yesterday — snuff-colored and slouchy pan- 
taloons; open black vest, held by a few brass buttons; 
straight or evening dress-coat, with tightly fitting 
sleeves to exaggerate his long, bony arms, all supple- 
mented by an awkwardness that was uncommon among 
men of intelligence. Such was the picture I met in the 
person of Abraham Lincoln. We sat down in his 
plainly furnished parlor, and were uninterrupted dur- 
ing the nearly four hours I remained with him, and, 
little by little, as his earnestness, sincerity, and candor 
were developed in conversation, I forgot all the gro- 
tesque qualities which so confounded me when I first 
greeted him. Before half an hour had passed I learned 
not only to respect, but, indeed, to reverence the 
man." 

A graphic portrait, truly, and not unlike. I recall 

him, two months later, a little less uncouth, a little 

better dressed, but in singularity and in angularity 

much the same. All the world now takes an interest 

143 



The Compromises of Life 

in every detail that concerned him, or that relates to 
the weird tragedy of his life and death. 

And who was this peculiar being, destined in his 
mother's arms — for cradle he had none — so profoundly 
to affect the future of human-kind? He has told us 
himself, in words so simple and unaffected, so idiomatic 
and direct, that we can neither misread them, nor im- 
prove upon them. Answering one who, in 1859, had 
asked him for some biographic particulars, Abraham 
Lincoln wrote: 

"I was born February 12, 1809, in Hardin County, 
Kentucky. My parents were both born in Virginia, of 
undistinguished families — second families, perhaps I 
should say. My mother, who died in my tenth year, 
was of a family of the name of Hanks. . . . My 
paternal grandfather, Abraham Lincoln, emigrated 
from Rockingham County, Va., to Kentucky about 
1 78 1 or 1782, where, a year or two later, he was killed 
by the Indians, not in battle, but by stealth, when he 
was laboring to open a farm in the forest. . . . 

"My father (Thomas Lincoln) at the death of his 
father was but six years of age. By the early death of 
his father, and the very narrow circumstances of his 
mother, he was, even in childhood, a wandering, labor- 
ing boy, and grew up literally without education. He 
never did more in the way of writing than bungllngly 
to write his own name. . . . He removed from 
Kentucky to what is now Spencer County, Indiana, in 
my eighth year. ... It was a wild region, with 
many bears and other animals still in the woods. 
. . . There were some schools, so-called, but no 
qualification vi^as ever required of a teacher beyond 
144 



Abraham Lincoln 

'readin', writin', and cipherin' to the rule of three.' If 
a straggler supposed to understand Latin happened to 
sojourn in the neighborhood he was looked upon as a 
wizard. ... Of course, when I came of age I 
did not know much. Still, somehow, I could read, 
write, and cipher to the rule of three. But that was 
all. . . . The little advance I now have upon 
this store of education I have picked up from time to 
time under the pressure of necessity. 

"I was raised to farm work . . . till I was 
twenty-two. At twenty-one I came to Illinois, Ma- 
con County. Then I got to New Salem . . . 
where I remained a year as a sort of clerk in a store. 
Then came the Black Hawk War; and I was elected 
captain of a volunteer company, a success that gave 
me more pleasure than any I have had since. I went 
the campaign, was elated, ran for the Legislature the 
same year (1832), and was beaten — the only time I 
ever have been beaten by the people. The next, and 
three succeeding biennial elections, I was elected to the 
Legislature. I was not a candidate afterward. Dur- 
ing the legislative period I had studied law and re- 
moved to Springfield to practise it. In 1846 I was 
elected to the lower house of Congress. Was not a 
candidate for re-election. From 1849 to 1854, inclu- 
sive, practised law more assiduously than ever before. 
Always a Whig in politics, and generally on the Whig 
electoral tickets, making active canvasses. I was 
losing interest in politics when the repeal of the Mis- 
souri Compromise aroused me again. 

"If any personal description of me is thought desir- 
able, it may be said that I am in height six feet four 
inches, nearly; lean in flesh, weighing on an average 
one hundred and eighty pounds; dark complexion, 
with coarse black hair and gray eyes. No other marks 
or brands recollected." 

145 



The Compromises of Life 

There is the whole story, told by himself, and brought 
down to the point where he became a figure of national 
importance. 

His political philosophy was expounded in four elab- 
orate speeches; one delivered at Peoria, 111., October 
i6, 1854; ofie at Springfield, 111., June 16, 1858; one at 
Columbus, O., September 16, 1859, and one, February 
27, i860, at Cooper Institute, in the city of New York. 
Of course, Mr. Lincoln made many speeches and very 
good speeches. But these four, progressive in charac- 
ter, contain the sum total of his creed touching the or- 
ganic character of the Government and at the same 
time his personal and party view of contemporary af- 
fairs. They show him to have been an old-line Whig 
of the school of Henry Clay, with strong emancipation 
leanings ; a thorough anti-slavery man, but never an ex- 
tremist or an abolitionist. To the last he hewed to 
the line thus laid down. 

Two or three years ago I referred to Abraham Lin- 
coln — in a casual way — as one "inspired of God." I 
was taken to task for this and thrown upon my defence. 
Knowing less then than I now know of Mr. Lincoln, 
I confined myself to the superficial aspects of the case ; 
to the career of a man who seemed to have lacked the 
opportunity to prepare himself for the great estate to 
which he had come, plucked as it were from obscurity 
by a caprice of fortune. 

Accepting the doctrine of inspiration as a law of the 
146 



Abraham Lincoln 

universe, I still stand to this belief ; but I must qualify 
it as far as it conveys the idea that Mr, Lincoln was not 
as well equipped in actual knowledge of men and af- 
fairs as any of his contemporaries. Mr. Webster once 
said that he had been preparing to make his reply to 
Hayne for thirty years. Mr. Lincoln had been in un- 
conscious training for the Presidency for thirty years. 
His maiden address as a candidate for the Legislature, 
issued at the ripe old age of twenty-three, closes with 
these words, "But if the good people in their wisdom 
shall see fit to keep me in the background, I have been 
too familiar with disappointment to be very much 
chagrined." The man who wrote that sentence, thirty 
years later wrote this sentence: "The mystic chords of 
memory, stretching from every battle-field and patriot- 
grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this 
broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, 
when again touched, as surely they will be, by the 
angels of our better nature." Between those two sen- 
tences, joined by a kindred, sombre thought, flowed a 
life-current — 

"Strong, without rage, without o'erflowing, full," 

pausing never for an instant; deepening while it ran, 
but nowise changing its course or its tones ; always the 
same; calm; patient; affectionate; like one born to a 
destiny, and, as in a dream, feeling its resistless force. 
It is needful to a complete understanding of Mr. 
147 



The Compromises of Life 

Lincoln^s relation to the time and to his place in the 
political history of the country, that the student peruse 
closely the four speeches to which I have called atten- 
tion ; they underlie all that passed in the famous debate 
with Douglas; all that their author said and did after 
he succeeded to the Presidency. They stand to-day as 
masterpieces of popular oratory. But for our present 
purpose the debate with Douglas will suffice^ — the most 
extraordinary intellectual spectacle the annals of our 
party warfare afford. Lincoln entered the canvass un- 
known outside the State of Illinois. He closed it re- 
nowned from one end of the land to the other. 

Judge Douglas was himself unsurpassed as a stump- 
speaker and ready debater. But in that campaign, from 
first to last, Judge Douglas was at a serious disadvan- 
tage. His bark rode upon an ebbing tide; Lincoln's 
bark rode upon a flowing tide. African slavery was the 
issue now ; and the whole trend of modern thought was 
set against slavery. The Democrats seemed hopelessly 
divided. The Little Giant had to face a triangular op- 
position embracing the Republicans, the Administra- 
tion, or Buchanan Democrats, and a little remnant of 
the old Whigs, who fancied that their party was still 
alive and thought to hold some kind of balance of 
power. Judge Douglas called the combination the 
"allied army," and declared that he would deal with 
it "just as the Russians dealt with the allies at Sebas- 
topol — that is, the Russians did not stop to inquire, 
148 



Abraham Lincoln 

when they fired a broadside, whether it hit an English- 
man, a Frenchman, or a Turk." It was something 
more than a witticism when Mr. Lincoln rejoined, "In 
that case, I beg he will indulge us while we suggest to 
him that those allies took Sebastopol." 

He followed this centre-shot with volley after volley 
of exposition so clear, of reasoning so close, of illustra- 
tion so pointed, and, at times, of humor so incisive, that, 
though he lost his election — though the allies did not 
then take Sebastopol — his defeat counted for more than 
Douglas's victory, for it made him the logical and suc- 
cessful candidate for President of the United States two 
years later. 

What could be more captivating to an out-door audi- 
ence than Lincoln's description "of the two persons who 
stand before the people of the State as candidates for 
the Senate," to quote his prefatory words? "Judge 
Douglas," he said, "is of world-wide renown. All 
the anxious politicians of his party . . . have been 
looking upon him as certainly ... to be Presi- 
dent of the United States. They have seen in his 
round, jolly, fruitful face, post-offices, land-offices, mar- 
shalships and cabinet appointments, chargeships and 
foreign missions, bursting and spreading out in wonder- 
ful exuberance, ready to be laid hold of by their greedy 
hands. And as they have been gazing upon this attrac- 
tive picture so long, they cannot, in the little distraction 
that has taken place in the party, bring themselves to 
149 



The Compromises of Life 

give up the charming hope; but with greedier anxiety 
they rush about him, sustain him, and give him marches, 
triumphal entries, and receptions, beyond what in the 
days of his highest prosperity they could have brought 
about in his favor. On the contrary, nobody has ever 
expected me to be President. In my poor, lean, lank 
face nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were 
sprouting." 

As the debate advanced, these cheery tones deepened 
into harsher notes; crimination and recrimination fol- 
lowed ; the two gladiators were strung to their utmost 
tension. They became dreadfully in earnest. Per- 
sonal collision was narrowly avoided. I have recently 
gone over the entire debate, and with a feeling I can 
only describe as most contemplative, most melancholy. 

I knew Judge Douglas well; I admired, respected, 
loved him. I shall never forget the day he quitted 
Washington to go to his home in Illinois to return no 
more. Tears were in his eyes and his voice trembled 
like a woman's. He was then a dying man. He had 
burned the candle at both ends from his boyhood; an 
eager, ardent, hard-working, pleasure-loving man ; and, 
though not yet fifty, the candle was burned out. His 
infirmities were no greater than those of Mr. Clay; not 
to be mentioned with those of Mr. Webster. But he 
lived in more exacting times. The old-style party 
organ, with its mock heroics and its dull respectability, 
its beggarly array of empty news-columns and cheap 
150 



Abraham Lincoln 

advertising, had been succeeded by that unsparing, tell- 
tale scandal-monger, modern journalism, with its 
myriad of hands and eyes, its vast retinue of detectives, 
and its quick transit over flashing wires, annihilating 
time and space. Too fierce a light beat upon the pri- 
vate life of public men, and Douglas suffered from this 
as Clay and Webster, Silas Wright and Franklin Pierce 
had not suffered. 

The Presidential bee was in his bonnet, certainly; 
but its buzzing there was not noisier than in the bon- 
nets of other great Americans, who have been dazzled 
by that wretched bauble. His plans and schemes came 
to naught. He died at the moment when the death of 
those plans and schemes was made more palpable and 
impressive by the roar of cannon proclaiming the reality 
of that irrepressible conflict he had refused to foresee 
and had struggled to avert. His life-long rival was at 
the head of affairs. No one has found occasion to come 
to the rescue of his fame. No party interest has been 
identified with his memory. But when the truth of 
history is written, it will be told that, not less than 
Webster and Clay, he, too, was a patriotic man, who 
loved his country and tried to save the Union. He 
tried to save the Union, even as Webster and Clay had 
tried to save it, by compromises and expedients. It 
was too late. The string was played out. Where 
they had succeeded he failed; but, for the nobility of 
his intention, the amplitude of his resources, the splen- 
151 



The Compromises of Life 

dor of his combat, he merits all that any leader of 
losing cause ever gained in the report of poster- 
ity; and posterity will not deny him the title of 
statesman. 

In that great debate it was Titan against Titan ; and, 
perusing it after the lapse of forty years, the philosophic 
and impartial critic will conclude which got the better 
of it, Lincoln or Douglas, much according to his sym- 
pathy with the one or the other. Douglas, as I have 
said, had the disadvantage of riding an ebb-tide. But 
Lincoln encountered a disadvantage in riding a flood- 
tide, which was flowing too fast for a man so conserva- 
tive and so honest as he was. Thus there was not a 
little equivocation on both sides foreign to the nature 
of the two. Both wanted to be frank. Both thought 
they were being frank. But each was a little afraid of 
his own logic; each was a little afraid of his own fol- 
lowing ; and hence there was considerable hair-splitting, 
involving accusations that did not accuse and denials 
that did not deny. They were politicians, these two, 
as well as statesmen; they were politicians, and what 
they did not know about political campaigning was 
hardly worth knowing. Reverently, I take off my hat 
to both of them ; and I turn down the page ; I close the 
book and lay it on its shelf, with the inward ejacula- 
tion, "there were giants in those days." 

I am not undertaking to deliver an oral biography 
of Abraham Lincoln, and shall pass over the events 
152 



Abraham Lincoln 

which quickly led up to his nomination and election to 
the Presidency in i860. 

I met the newly elected President the afternoon of 
the day in the early morning of which he had arrived 
in Washington. It was a Saturday, I think. He came 
to the Capitol under Mr. Seward's escort, and, among 
the rest, I was presented to him. His appearance did 
not impress me as fantastically as it had impressed 
Colonel McClure. I was more familiar with the 
Western type than Colonel McClure, and while Mr. 
Lincoln was certainly not an Adonis, even after prairie 
ideals, there was about him a dignity that commanded 
respect. 

I met him again the forenoon of March 4 in his 
apartment at Willard's Hotel as he was preparing to 
start to his inauguration, and was touched by his un- 
affected kindness; for I came with a matter requiring 
his immediate attention. He was entirely self-pos- 
sessed ; no trace of nervousness ; and very obliging. I 
accompanied the cortege that passed from the Senate 
chamber to the vast portico of the capitol, and, as Mr. 
Lincoln removed his hat to face the vast multitude in 
front and below, I extended my hand to receive it, but 
Judge Douglas, just beside me, reached over my out- 
stretched arm and took the hat, holding it throughout 
the delivery of the inaugural address. I stood near 
enough to the speaker's elbow not to obstruct any gest- 
ures he might make, though he made but few; and 
153 



The Compromises of Life 

then it was that I began to comprehend something of 
the power of the man. 

He delivered that inaugural address as if he had been 
delivering inaugural addresses all his life. Firm, 
resonant, earnest, it announced the coming of a man ; of 
a leader of men; and in its ringing tones and elevated 
style, the gentlemen he had invited to become members 
of his political family — each of whom thought himself 
a bigger man than his master — might have heard the 
voice and seen the hand of a man born to command. 
Whether they did or not, they very soon ascertained 
the fact. From the hour Abraham Lincoln crossed 
the threshold of the White House to the hour he went 
thence to his death, there was not a moment when he 
did not dominate the political and military situation 
and all his official subordinates. 

Mr. Seward was the first to fall a victim to his own 
temerity. One of the most extraordinary incidents 
that ever passed between a chief and his lieutenant came 
about within thirty days after the incoming of the new 
administration. On April i Mr. Seward submitted to 
Mr. Lincoln a memorandum, entitled "Some Thoughts 
for the President's Consideration." He began this by 
saying: "We are at the end of a month's administra- 
tion, and yet without a policy, either foreign or domes- 
tic." There follows a series of suggestions hardly less 
remarkable for their character than for their emana- 
tion. They make quite a baker's dozen, for the most 
154 



Abraham Lincoln 

part flimsy and irrelevant ; but two of them are so con- 
spicuous for a lack of sagacity and comprehension that 
I shall quote them as a sample of the whole : 

"We must change the question before the public," 
says Mr. Seward, "from one upon slavery, or about 
slavery, to one upon union or disunion" — as if it had 
not been thus changed already — and "I would demand 
explanations from Spain and France, energetically, at 
once, . . . and, if satisfactory explanations are 
not received from Spain and France, I would convene 
Congress and declare war against them. ... I 
would seek explanations from Great Britain and Rus- 
sia, and send agents into Canada, Mexico, and Central 
America to arouse a vigorous spirit of continental inde- 
pendence on this continent against European interven- 
tion." 

Think of it! At the moment this advice was seri- 
ously given the head of the State by the head of the 
Cabinet — supposed to be the most accomplished states- 
man and astute diplomatist of his time — a Southern 
Confederacy had been actually established, and Europe 
was only too eager for some pretext to put in its oar, 
effectually, finally, to compass the dissolution of the 
Union and the defeat of the Republican experiment in 
America. The Government of the United States had 
but to make a grimace at France and Spain ; to bat its 
eye at England and Russia, to raise up a quadruple 
alliance, monarchy against democracy, bringing down 
155 



The Compromises of Life 

upon itself the navies of the world, and double assur- 
ing, double confirming the Government of Jefferson 
Davis. 

In concluding these astounding counsels, Mr. Sew- 
ard says : 

"But whatever policy we adopt, there must be an 
energetic prosecution of it. 

"For this purpose it must be somebody's business to 
pursue and direct it incessantly. 

"Either the President must do it himself and be all 
the while active in it, or devolve it on some member of 
his Cabinet. 

"Once adopted, all debates on it must end and all 
agree and abide. 

"It is not in my especial province; but I neither 
seek to evade nor assume responsibility." 

Before hearing Mr. Lincoln's answer to all this, con- 
sider what it really implied. If Mr. Seward had sim- 
ply said : "Mr. Lincoln, you are a failure as President, 
but turn over the direction of affairs exclusively to me, 
and all shall be well and all be forgiven," he could not 
have spoken more explicitly and hardly more offensively. 

Now let us see how a great man carries himself at a 
critical moment under extreme provocation. Here is 
the answer Mr. Lincoln sent Mr. Seward that very 
night : 

"Executive Mansion, April i, 1861. 
"Hon. W. H. Seward: 

"My Dear Sir: Since parting with you I have 
been considering your paper dated this day and entitled 

156 



Abraham Lincoln 

*some thoughts for the President's consideration.' The 
first proposition in it is, Ve are at the end of a month's 
administration and yet without a policy, either domes- 
tic or foreign.' 

"At the beginning of that month in the inaugural I 
said: 'The power confided to me will be used to hold, 
occupy, and possess the property and places belonging 
to the Government, and to collect the duties and im- 
ports.' This had your distinct approval at the time; 
and taken in connection with the order I immediately 
gave General Scott, directing him to employ every 
means in his power to strengthen and hold the forts, 
comprises the exact domestic policy you urge, with the 
single exception that it does not propose to abandon 
Fort Sumter. 

"The news received yesterday in regard to Santo 
Domingo certainly brings a new item within the range 
of our foreign policy, but up to that time we have been 
preparing circulars and instructions to ministers and 
the like, all in perfect harmony, without even a sug- 
gestion that we had no foreign policy. 

"Upon your closing proposition — that 'Whatever 
policy we adopt, there must be an energetic prosecu- 
tion of it. 

" 'For this purpose it must be somebody's business 
to pursue and direct it incessantly. 

" 'Either the President must do it himself and be 
all the while active in it, or devolve it upon some mem- 
ber of his Cabinet. 

" 'Once adopted, debates must end, and all agree 
and abide.' I remark that if this be done, I must do 
It. When a general line of policy is adopted, I appre- 
hend there is no danger of its being changed without 
good reason, or continuing to be a subject of unneces- 
sary debate; still, upon points arising in its progress, 

157 



The Compromises of Life 

I wish, and suppose I am entitled to have, the advice 
of all the Cabinet. Your obedient servant, 

"A. Lincoln." 

I agree with Lincoln's biographers that in this letter 
not a word was omitted that was necessary, and not a 
hint or allusion is contained that could be dispensed 
with. It was conclusive. It ended the argument. 
Mr. Seward dropped into his place. Mr. Lincoln 
never referred to it. From that time forward the un- 
derstanding between them was mutual and perfect. So 
much so that when, May 21 following, Mr. Seward sub- 
mitted to the President the draft of a letter of instruc- 
tion to Charles Francis Adams, then Minister to Eng- 
land, Mr. Lincoln did not hesitate to change much of 
its character and purpose by his alteration of its text. 
This original copy of this despatch, in Mr. Seward's 
handwriting, with Mr. Lincoln's interlineations, is still 
to be seen on file in the Department of State. It is safe 
to say that, if that letter had gone as Mr. Seward wrote 
it, a war with England would have been, if not inevita- 
ble, yet very likely. Mr. Lincoln's additions, hardly 
less than his suppressions, present a curious contrast 
between the seer in affairs and the scholar in affairs. 
Even in the substitution of one word for another, Mr. 
Lincoln shows a grasp both upon the situation and the 
language which seems to have been wholly wanting in 
Mr. Seward, with all his experience and learning. It 
is said that, pondering over this document, weighing in 

158 



Abraham Lincoln 

his mind its meaning and import, his head bowed and 
pencil in hand, Mr. Lincoln was overheard murmur- 
ing to himself: "One war at a time — one war at a 
time." 

While I am on this matter of who was really Presi- 
dent while Abraham Lincoln occupied the office, I may 
as well settle it. We all remember how, in setting up 
for a bigger man than his chief, Mr. Chase fared no 
better than Mr. Seward. But it is sometimes claimed 
that Mr. Stanton was more successful in this line. 
Many stories are told of how Stanton lorded it over 
Lincoln. On a certain occasion it is related that the 
President was informed by an irate friend that the Sec- 
retary of War had not only refused to execute an order 
of his, but had called him a fool into the bargain. "Did 
Stanton say I was a fool?" said Lincoln. "Yes," re- 
plied his friend, "he said you were a blank, blank fool !" 
Lincoln looked first good-humoredly at his friend and 
then furtively out of the window in the direction of 
the War Department, and carelessly observed: "Well, 
it Stanton says that I am a blank fool, it must be so, for 
Stanton is nearly always right and generally means 
what he says. I think I shall just have to step over and 
see Stanton." 

On another occasion Mr. Lincoln is quoted as say- 
ing: "I have very little influence with this Administra- 
tion, but I hope to have more with the next." 

Complacent humor such as this simply denotes as- 
159 



The Compromises of Life 

sured position. It is merely the graciousness of con- 
scious power. But there happens to be on record a 
story of a different kind. This is related by Gen. 
James B. Fry, Provost Marshal General of the Army, 
on duty in the War Department. 

As General Fry tells it, Mr. Stanton seems to have 
had the right of it. The President had given an order 
which the Secretary of War had refused to issue. The 
President thereupon came into the War Department 
and this is what happened. In answer to Mr. Lin- 
coln's inquiry as to the cause of the trouble, Mr. Stan- 
ton went over the record and the grounds for his action, 
and concluded with: "Now, Mr. President, these are 
the facts, and you must see that your order cannot be 
executed." 

Lincoln sat upon a sofa with his legs crossed — I am 
quoting General Fry — and did not say a word until 
the Secretary's last remark. Then he said in a some- 
what positive tone: ''Mr. Secretary, I reckon you'll 
have to execute the order." 

Stanton replied with asperity: *'Mr. President, I 
cannot do it. The order is an improper one and I can- 
not execute it." 

Lincoln fixed his eye upon Stanton, and in a firm 
voice, and with an accent that clearly showed his de- 
termination, he said : 

"Mr. Secretary, it will have to be done." 

"Stanton then realized" — I am still quoting General 
i6o 



Abraham Lincoln 

Fry — "that he was overmatched. He had made a 
square issue with the President and been defeated, not- 
withstanding the fact that he was in the right. Upon 
an intimation from him, I withdrew and did not wit- 
ness his surrender. A few minutes after I reached my 
office I received instructions from the Secretary to carry 
out the President's order. Stanton never mentioned 
the subject to me afterward, nor did I ever ascertain 
the special, and no doubt sufficient reason, which the 
President had for his action in the case." 

Once General Halleck got on a high horse, and de- 
manded that, if Mr. Lincoln approved some ill-natured 
remarks alleged to have been made of certain military 
men about Washington, by Montgomery Blair, the 
Postmaster-General, he should dismiss the officers from 
the service, but, if he did not approve, he should dis- 
miss the Postmaster-General from the Cabinet. Mr. 
Lincoln's reply is very characteristic. He declined to 
do either of the things demanded. He said : 

"Whether the remarks were really made I do not 
know, nor do I suppose such knowledge necessary to a 
correct response. If they were made, I do not approve 
them; and yet, under the circumstances, I would not 
dismiss a member of the Cabinet therefor. I do not 
consider what may have been hastily said in a moment 
of vexation . . . sufficient ground for so grave a 
step. Besides this, truth is generally the best vindica- 
tion against slander. I propose continuing to be my- 
self the judge as to when a member of the Cabinet shall 
be dismissed," 

i6i 



The Compromises of Life 

Next day, however, he issued a warning to the mem- 
bers of his political family, which, in the form of a 
memorandum, he read to them. There is nothing 
equivocal about this. In language and in tone it is the 
utterance of a master. I will read it to you, as it is 
very brief and to the purpose. The President said : 

"I must myself be the judge how long to retain and 
when to remove any of you from his position. It would 
greatly pain me to discover any of you endeavoring to 
procure another's removal, or in any way to prejudice 
him before the public. Such endeavor would be a 
wrong to me, and much worse, a wrong to the coun- 
try. My wish is, that on this subject no remark be 
made, nor any question be asked by any of you, here 
or elsewhere, now or hereafter." 

Always courteous, always tolerant, always making 
allowance, yet always explicit, his was the master-spirit, 
his the guiding hand ; committing to each of the mem- 
bers of his Cabinet the details of the work of his own 
department; caring nothing for petty sovereignty; but 
reserving to himself all that related to great policies, 
the starting of moral forces and the moving of organized 
ideas. 

I want to say just here a few words about Mr. Lin- 
coln's relation to the South and the people of the South. 

He was, himself, a Southern man. He and all his 

tribe were Southerners. Although he left Kentucky 

when but a child, he was an old child; he never was 

very young; and he grew to manhood in a Kentucky 

162 



Abraham Lincoln 

colony ; for what was Illinois in those days but a Ken- 
tucky colony, grown since somewhat out of proportion ? 
He was in no sense what we in the South used to call 
"a poor white." Awkward, perhaps; ungainly, per- 
haps, but aspiring; the spirit of a hero beneath that 
rugged exterior; the soul of a prose-poet behind those 
heavy brows ; the courage of a lion back of those patient, 
kindly aspects ; and, before he was of legal age, a leader 
of men. His first love was a Rutledge; his wife was 
a Todd. 

Let the romancist tell the story of his romance. I 
dare not. No sadder idyl can be found in all the short 
and simple annals of the poor. 

We know that he was a prose-poet ; for have we not 
that immortal prose-poem recited at Gettysburg? We 
know that he was a statesman ; for has not time vindi- 
cated his conclusions? But the South does not know, 
except as a kind of hearsay, that he was a friend ; the 
sole friend who had the power and the will to save it 
from itself. He was the one man in public life who 
could have come to the head of affairs in 1861, bringing 
with him none of the embittered resentments growing 
out of the anti-slavery battle. While Seward, Chase, 
Sumner, and the rest had been engaged in hand-to-hand 
combat with the Southern leaders at Washington, Lin- 
coln, a philosopher and a statesman, had been observing 
the course of events from afar, and like a philosopher 
and a statesman. The direst blow that could have 

163 



The Compromises of Life 

been laid upon the prostrate South was delivered by 
the assassin's bullet that struck him down. 

But I digress. Throughout the contention that pre- 
ceded the war, amid the passions that attended the war 
itself, not one bitter, proscriptive word escaped the lips 
of Abraham Lincoln, while there was hardly a day that 
he was not projecting his great personality between some 
Southern man or woman and danger. 

Under date of February 2, 1848, from the hall of the 
House of Representatives at Washington, while he was 
serving as a member of Congress, he wrote this short 
note to his law partner at Springfield : 

"Dear William: I take up my pen to tell you 
that Mr. Stephens, of Georgia, a little, slim, pale- 
faced, consumptive man, with a voice like Logan's" 
(that was Stephen T., not John A.), ''has just con- 
cluded the very best speech of an hour's length I ever 
heard. My old, withered, dry eyes" (he was then not 
quite thirty-seven years of age) "are full of tears yet." 

From that time forward he never ceased to love Ste- 
phens, of Georgia. 

After that famous Hampton Roads conference, when 
the Confederate Commissioners, Stephens, Campbell, 
and Hunter, had traversed the field of official routine 
with Mr. Lincoln, the President, and Mr. Seward, the 
Secretary of State, Lincoln, the friend, still the old 
Whig colleague, though one was now President of the 
[United States and the other Vice-President of the 
164 



Abraham Lincoln 

Southern Confederacy, took the "slim, pale-faced, con- 
sumptive man" aside, and, pointing to a sheet of paper 
he held in his hand, said: "Stephens, let me write 
'Union' at the top of that page, and you may write 
below it whatever else you please." 

In the preceding conversation Mr. Lincoln had inti- 
mated that payment for the slaves was not outside a 
possible agreement for reunion and peace. He based 
that statement upon a plan he already had in hand, to 
appropriate four hundred millions of dollars to this 
purpose. 

There are those who have put themselves to the pains 
of challenging this statement of mine. It admits of no 
possible equivocation. Mr. Lincoln carried with him 
to Fortress Monroe two documents that still stand in 
his own handwriting; one of them a joint resolution to 
be passed by the two Houses of Congress appropriating 
the four hundred millions, the other a proclamation to 
be issued by himself, as President, when the joint reso- 
lution had been passed. These formed no part of the 
discussion at Hampton Roads, because Mr. Stephens 
told Mr. Lincoln they were limited to treating upon 
the basis of the recognition of the Confederacy, and to 
all intents and purposes the conference died before it 
was actually born. But Mr. Lincoln was so filled with 
the idea that next day, when he had returned to Wash- 
ington, he submitted the two documents to the members 
of his Cabinet. Excepting Mr. Seward, they were all 
i6s 



The Compromises of Life 

against him. He said : "Why, gentlemen, how long is 
the war going to last? It is not going to end this side 
of a hundred days, is it? It is costing us four millions 
a day. There are the four hundred millions, not count- 
ing the loss of life and property in the meantime. But 
you are all against me, and I will not press the matter 
upon you." I have not cited this fact of history to 
attack, or even to criticise, the policy of the Confeder- 
ate Government, but simply to illustrate the wise mag- 
nanimity and justice of the character of Abraham Lin- 
coln. For my part, I rejoice that the war did not end 
at Fortress Monroe — or any other conference — but 
that it was fought out to its bitter and logical conclu- 
sion at Appomattox. 

It was the will of God that there should be, as God's 
own prophet had promised, "a new birth of freedom," 
and this could only be reached by the obliteration of the 
very idea of slavery. God struck Lincoln down in the 
moment of his triumph, to attain it; He blighted the 
South to attain it. But He did attain it. And here 
we are this night to attest it. God's will be done on 
earth as it is done in Heaven. But let no Southern 
man point finger at me because I canonize Abraham 
Lincoln, for he was the one friend we had at court 
when friends were most in need ; he was the one man in 
power who wanted to preserve us intact, to save us from 
the wolves of passion and plunder that stood at our 
door; and as that God, of whom it has been said that 
1 66 



Abraham Lincoln 

"whom He loveth He chasteneth," meant that the 
South should be chastened, Lincoln was put out of the 
way by the bullet of an assassin, having neither lot nor 
parcel, North or South, but a winged emissary of fate, 
flown from the shadows of the mystic world, which 
iEschylus and Shakespeare created and consecrated to 
tragedy ! 

I sometimes wonder shall we ever attain a journalism 
sufficiently upright in its treatment of current events to 
publish fully and fairly the utterances of our public 
men, and, except in cases of provable dishonor, to leave 
their motives and their personalities alone ? 

Reading just what Abraham Lincoln did say and did 
do, it is inconceivable how such a man could have 
aroused antagonism so bitter and abuse so savage, to 
fall at last by the hand of an assassin. 

We boast our superior civilization and our enlight- 
ened freedom of speech ; and yet, how few of us — when 
a strange voice begins to utter unfamiliar or unpalata- 
ble things — how few of us stop and ask ourselves, May 
not this man be speaking the truth after all? It is so 
easy to call names. It is so easy to impugn motives. 
It is so easy to misrepresent opinions we cannot answer. 
From the least to the greatest what creatures we are of 
party spirit, and yet, for the most part, how small its 
aims, how imperfect its instruments, how disappointing 
its conclusions! 

One thinks now that the world in which Abraham 
167 



The Compromises of Life 

Lincoln lived might have dealt more gently by such a 
man. He was himself so gentle — so upright in nature 
and so broad of mind — so sunny and so tolerant in tem- 
per — so simple and so unaffected in bearing — a rude 
exterior covering an undaunted spirit, proving by his 
every act and word that — 

"The bravest are the tenderest, 
The loving are the daring." 

Though he was a party leader, he was a typical and 
patriotic American, in whom even his enemies might 
have found something to respect and admire. But 
it could not be so. He committed one grievous offence ; 
he dared to think and he was not afraid to speak; he 
was far in advance of his party and his time ; and men 
are slow to forgive what they do not readily under- 
stand. 

Yet, all the while that the waves of passion were 
breaking against his sturdy figure, reared above the 
dead-level, as a lone oak upon a sandy beach, not one 
harsh word rankled in his heart to sour the milk of 
human kindness that, like a perennial spring from the 
gnarled roots of some majestic tree, flowed thence. He 
would smooth over a rough place in his official inter- 
course with a funny story fitting the case in point, and 
they called him a trifler. He would round off a logical 
argument with a familiar example, hitting the nail 
squarely on the head and driving it home, and they 
1 68 



Abraham Lincoln 

called him a buffoon. Big wigs and little wigs were 
agreed that he lowered the dignity of debate; as if de- 
bates were intended to mystify, and not to clarify truth. 
Yet he went on and on, and never backward, until his 
time was come, when his genius, fully ripened, rose 
to emergencies. Where did he get his style? Ask 
Shakespeare and Burns where they got their style. 
Where did he get his grasp upon afEairs and his knowl- 
edge of men ? Ask the Lord God who created miracles 
in Luther and Bonaparte ! 

Here, under date of November 21, 1864, amid the 
excitement attendant upon his re-election to the Presi- 
dency, Mr. Lincoln found time to write the following 
letter to Mrs. Bixby, of Boston, a poor widow who had 
lost five sons killed in battle. 

My Dear Madam: I have been shown in the files 
of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant- 
General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of 
five sons who have died gloriously on the field of bat- 
tle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words 
of mine which should attempt to beguile you from a 
loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from ten- 
dering you the consolation that may be found in the 
thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that 
our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your 
bereavement and leave you only the cherished memory 
of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must 
be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar 
of freedom. 

Yours very sincerely and respectfully, 
A. Lincoln. 



The Compromises of Life 

Contrast this exquisite prose-poem with the answer 
he made to General Grant, when Grant asked him 
whether he should make an effort to capture Jefferson 
Davis. "I told Grant," said Lincoln, relating the in- 
cident, "the story of an Irishman who had taken Father 
Mathew's pledge. Soon thereafter, becoming very 
thirsty, he slipped into a saloon and asked for a lemon- 
ade, and while it was being mixed he leaned over and 
whispered to the bartender : 'Av ye could drap a bit o' 
brandy in it, all unbeknown to myself, I'd make no fuss 
about it.* My notion was that if Grant could let Jeff 
Davis escape all unbeknown to himself, he was to let 
him go. I didn't want him." 

When we recall all that did happen when Jefferson 
Davis was captured, and what a white elephant he be- 
came in the hands of the Government, it will be seen 
that there was sagacity as well as humor in Lincoln's 
illustration. 

I have said that Abraham Lincoln was an old-line 
Whig of the school of Henry Clay, with strong free- 
soil opinions, but never an extremist or an abolitionist. 
He was what they used to call in those old days "a 
Conscience Whig." He stood in actual awe of the 
Constitution and his oath of office. Hating slavery, he 
recognized its constitutional existence and rights. He 
wanted gradually to extinguish it, not to despoil those 
who held it as a property interest. He was so faithful 
to these principles that he approached emancipation, 
170 



Abraham Lincoln 

not only with great deliberation, but with many mis- 
givings. He issued his final proclamation as a military 
necessity; as a war measure; and even then, so just was 
his nature that he was, as I have shown, meditating 
some kind of restitution. 

I gather that he was not a civil service reformer of 
the school of Grover Cleveland, because I find among 
his papers a short, peremptory note to Stanton, in which 
he says: "I personally wish Jacob Freese, of New Jer- 
sey, appointed colonel of a colored regiment, and this 
regardless of whether he can tell the exact color of 
Julius Caesar's hair." 

His unconventionalism was equalled only by his 
humanity. No custodian of absolute power ever exer- 
cised it so benignly. His interposition in behalf of 
men sentenced to death by courts-martial became so 
demoralizing that his generals in the field united in a 
round-robin protest. Both Grant and Sherman cut the 
wires between army headquarters and the White 
House, to escape his interference with the iron rule of 
military discipline. 

A characteristic story is told by John B. Ally, of 
Boston, who, going to the White House three days in 
succession, found each day in one of the outer halls a 
gray-haired old man, silently weeping. The third day, 
touched by this not uncommon spectacle, he went up to 
the old man and ascertained that he had a son under sen- 
tence of death, and was trying to reach the President. 
171 



The Compromises of Life 

"Come along," said Ally, "I'll take you to the Presi- 
dent." 

Mr. Lincoln listened to the old man's pitiful story, 
and then sadly replied that he had just received a tele- 
gram from the general commanding imploring him not 
to interfere. The old man cast one last heart-broken 
look at the President, and started shuffling toward the 
door. Before he reached it Mr. Lincoln called him 
back. "Come back, old man," he said, "come back! 
The generals may telegraph and telegraph, but I am 
going to pardon that young man." 

Thereupon he sent a despatch directing sentence to 
be suspended until execution should be ordered by him- 
self. Then the old man burst out crying again. "Mr. 
President," said he, "that is not a pardon, you only 
hold up the sentence of my boy until you can order him 
to be shot !" 

Lincoln turned quickly and, half smiles, half tears, 
replied: "Go along, old man, go along in peace; if your 
son lives until I order him to be shot, he'll grow to be 
as old as Methuselah!" 

I could keep you here all night relating such inci- 
dents. They were common occurrences at the White 
House. There was not a day of Lincoln's life that he 
was not doing some act of charity; not like a senti- 
mentalist, overcome by cheap emotion, but like a brave, 
sensible man, who knew where to draw the line and 
who made few, if any, mistakes. 
172 



Abraham Lincoln 

I find no better examples of the peculiar cast of his 
mind than are interspersed throughout the record of his 
intercourse with his own relatives. His domestic corre- 
spondence is full of canny wisdom and unconscious 
humor. In particular, he had a ne'er-do-well step- 
brother, by the name of Johnston, a son of his father's 
second wife, of whom he was very fond. There are 
many letters to this Johnston. One of these I am go- 
ing to read you, because it will require neither apology 
nor explanation. It is illustrative of both the canny 
wisdom and unconscious humor. Thus: 

"Springfield, January 2, 1851. 

"Dear Brother: Your request for eighty dollars I 
do not think it best to comply with now. At the va- 
rious times I have helped you a little you have said: 
*We can get along very well now,' but in a short time 
I find you in the same difficulty again. Now this can 
only happen through some defect in you. What that 
defect is I think I know. You are not lazy, and still 
you are an idler. I doubt whether since I saw you you 
have done a good, whole day's work in any one day. 
You do not very much dislike to work, and still you 
do not work much, merely because it does not seem to 
you you get enough for it. This habit of uselessly 
wasting time is the whole difficulty. It is vastly im- 
portant to you, and still more to your children, that 
you break the habit. . . . 

"You are now in need of some money, and what I 
propose is that you shall go to work, *tooth and nail,' 
for somebody who will give you money for it. Let 
father and your boys take charge of your things at 
home, prepare for a crop and make the crop, and you 

173 



The Compromises of Life 

go to work for the best money wages you can get, or 
in discharge of any debt you owe, and, to secure you 
a fair reward for your labor, I promise you that for 
every dollar you will get for your labor between this 
and the ist of May, either in money, or in your in- 
debtedness, I will then give you one other dollar. By 
this, if you hire yourself for ten dollars a month, from 
me you will get ten dollars more, making twenty dol- 
lars. . . . 

"In this I do not mean that you shall go off to St. 
Louis or the lead mines in Missouri, or the gold mines 
in California, but I mean for you to go at it for the 
best wages you can get close to home in Coles County. 
If you will do this you will soon be out of debt, and, 
what is better, you will have acquired a habit which 
will keep you from getting in debt again. But if I 
should now clear you out of debt, next year you would 
be just as deep in debt as ever. 

"You say you would almost give your place in 
Heaven for seventy or eighty dollars? Then you value 
your place in Heaven very cheap, for I am sure you 
can, with the offer I make, get the seventy or eighty 
dollars for four or five months' work. 

"You say if I will lend you the money, you will 
deed me the land, and, if you don't pay the money back, 
you will deliver possession. Nonsense! If you can- 
not now live with the land, how will you then live 
without it? 

"You have always been kind to me, and I do not 
mean to be unkind to you. On the contrary, if you 
will but follow my advice, you will find it worth 
eighty times eighty dollars to you. 

"Affectionately your brother, 

"A. Lincoln." 

Could anything be wiser, sweeter, or delivered in 
174 



Abraham Lincoln 

terms more specific yet more fraternal ? And that was 
Abraham Lincoln from the crown of his head to the 
soles of his feet. 

I am going to spare you and myself, and the dear 
ones of his own blood who are here to-night, the repeti- 
tion of the story of the awful tragedy that ended the 
life of this great man, this good man, this typical Amer- 
ican. 

Besides that tragedy, most other tragedies, epic and 
real, become insignificant. * 'Within the narrow com- 
pass of that stage-box that night were five human be- 
ings; the most illustrious of modern heroes, crowned 
with the most stupendous victory of modern times; his 
beloved wife, proud and happy; two betrothed lovers 
with all the promise of felicity that youth, social posi- 
tion, and wealth could give them; and a young actor, 
handsome as Endymion upon Latmus, the idol of his 
little world. The glitter of fame, happiness, and ease 
was upon the entire group, but in an instant everything 
was to be changed with the blinding swiftness of en- 
chantment. Quick death was to come on the central 
figure of that company, . . . Over all the rest 
the blackest fates hovered menacingly; fates from 
which a mother might pray that kindly death would 
save her children in their infancy. One was to wan- 
der with the stain of murder on his soul, with the curses 
of a world upon his name, with a price set upon his 
head, in frightful physical pain, till he died a dog's 
175 



The Compromises of Life 

death in a burning barn. The stricken wife was to 
pass the rest of her days in melancholy and madness ; of 
those two young lovers, one was to slay the other, and 
then end his life a raving maniac!"* No book of 
tragedy contains a single chapter quite so dark as that. 

And what was the mysterious power of this mysteri- 
ous man, and whence? 

His was the genius of common-sense; of common- 
sense in action; of common-sense in thought; of com- 
mon-sense enriched by experience and unhindered by 
fear. "He was a common man," says his friend, 
Joshua Speed, ''expanded into giant proportions; well 
acquainted with the people, he placed his hand on the 
beating pulse of the nation, judged of its disease, and 
was ready with a remedy." Inspired he was truly, as 
Shakespeare was inspired; as Mozart was inspired; as 
Burns was inspired; each, like him, sprung directly 
from the people. 

I look into the crystal globe that, slowly turning, tells 
the story of his life, and I see a little heart-broken boy, 
weeping by the outstretched form of a dead mother, 
then bravely, nobly trudging a hundred miles to obtain 
her Christian burial. I see this motherless lad grow- 
ing to manhood amid scenes that seem to lead to noth- 
ing but abasement ; no teachers ; no books ; no chart, ex- 
cept his own untutored mind; no compass, except his 
own undisciplined will; no light, save light from 

* Hay and Nicolay'a Life. 
176 



Abraham Lincoln 

Heaven ; yet, like the caravel of Columbus, struggling 
on and on through the trough of the sea, always toward 
the destined land. I see the full-grown man, stalwart 
and brave, an athlete in activity of movement and 
strength of limb, yet vexed by weird dreams and 
visions; of life, of love, of religion, sometimes verging 
on despair. I see the mind, grown at length as robust 
as the body, throw off these phantoms of the imagina- 
tion and give itself wholly to the work-a-day uses of 
the world ; the rearing of children ; the earning of bread ; 
the multiplied duties of life. I see the party leader, 
self-confident in conscious rectitude ; original, because it 
was not his nature to follow; potent, because he was 
fearless, pursuing his convictions with earnest zeal, and 
urging them upon his fellows with the resources of an 
oratory which was hardly more impressive than it was 
many-sided. I see him, the preferred among his fel- 
lows, ascend the eminence reserved for him, and him 
alone of all the statesmen of the time, amid the derision 
of opponents and the distrust of supporters, yet unawed 
and unmoved, because thoroughly equipped to meet the 
emergency. The same being, from first to last; the 
poor child weeping over a dead mother ; the great chief 
sobbing amid the cruel horrors of war; flinching never 
from duty, nor changing his life-long ways of dealing 
with the stern realities which pressed upon him and 
hurried him onward. And, last scene of all, that ends 
this strange, eventful history, I see him lying dead there 
177 



The Compromises of Life 

in the capitol of the nation, to which he had rendered 
"the last, full measure of his devotion," the flag of his 
country around him, the world in mourning, and, ask- 
ing myself how could any man have hated that man, I 
ask you, how can any man refuse his homage to his 
memory? Surely, he was one of God's own; not in 
any sense a creature of circumstance, or accident. Re- 
curring to the doctrine of inspiration, I say, again and 
again, he was inspired of God, and I cannot see how 
anyone who believes in that doctrine can believe him 
as anything else. 

From Caesar to Bismarck and Gladstone the world 
has had its statesmen and its soldiers — men who rose 
from obscurity to eminence and power step by step, 
through a series of geometric progression as it were, each 
advancement following in regular order one after the 
other, the whole obedient to well-established and well- 
understood laws of cause and effect. They were not 
what we call "men of destiny." They were "men of 
the time." They were men whose careers had a begin- 
ning, a middle, and an end, rounding off lives with his- 
tories, full it may be of interesting and exciting event, 
but comprehensive and comprehensible; simple, clear, 
complete. 

The inspired ones are fewer. Whence their emana- 
tion, where and how they got their power, by what 
rule they lived, moved, and had their being, we know 
not. There is no explication to their lives. They rose 

178 



Abraham Lincoln 

from shadow and they went in mist. We see them, 
feel them, but we know them not. They came, God's 
word upon their lips ; they did their office, God's mantle 
about them; and they vanished, God's holy light be- 
tween the world and them, leaving behind a memory, 
half mortal and half myth. From first to last they 
were the creations of some special Providence, baf- 
fling the wit of man to fathom, defeating the machina- 
tions of the world, the flesh and the devil, until their 
work was done, then passing from the scene as mysteri- 
ously as they had come upon it. 

Tried by this standard, where shall we find an exam- 
ple so impressive as Abraham Lincoln, whose career 
might be chanted by a Greek chorus as at once the pre- 
lude and the epilogue of the most imperial theme of 
modern times? 

Born as lowly as the Son of God, in a hovel ; reared 
in penury, squalor, with no gleam of light or fair sur- 
rounding; without graces, actual or acquired; without 
name or fame or official training; it was reserved for 
this strange being, late in life, to be snatched from ob- 
scurity, raised to supreme command at a supreme mo- 
ment, and intrusted with the destiny of a nation. 

The great leaders of his party, the most experienced 
and accomplished public men of the day, were made to 
stand aside; were sent to the rear, while this fan- 
tastic figure was led by unseen hands to the front and 
given the reins of power. It is immaterial whether we 
179 



The Compromises of Life 

were for him, or against him; wholly immaterial. 
That, during four years, carrying with them such 
a weight of responsibility as the world never witnessed 
before, he filled the vast space allotted him in the eyes 
and actions of mankind, is to say that he was inspired of 
God, for nowhere else could he have acquired the wis- 
dom and the virtue. 

Where did Shakespeare get his genius? Where did 
Mozart get his music ? Whose hand smote the lyre of 
the Scottish ploughman, and stayed the life of the Ger- 
man priest? God, God, and God alone; and as surely 
as these were raised up by God, inspired by God, was 
Abraham Lincoln; and a thousand years hence, no 
drama, no tragedy, no epic poem will be filled with 
greater wonder, or be followed by mankind with deeper 
feeling than that which tells the story of his life and 
death. 



1 80 



JOHN PAUL JONES* 

I am to tell you a true story, as thrilling and as 
romantic as any one of the fictions of Walter Scott, 
as cut-and-thrust as any one of the melodramas of Al- 
exander Dumas. I am to present you a hero equally 
valorous with Quentin Durward, equally picturesque 
with Athos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan. We shall set 
out upon our adventures from a little fishing hamlet 
on the north shore of the Firth of Solway In Scotland ; 
shall sail thence to the Capes of the Chesapeake by way 
of Jamaica and St. Kitts and the Caribbean Sea; and, 
before we have come to a certain mooring, we shall 
get a glimpse of the Guinea coast and the slave trade. 
We shall quit the hazards of the deep for a season to 
set up for a country gentleman upon an estate we have 
Inherited just outside old Wllliamsburgh in Virginia; 
to crack a bottle of Madeira, It may be, with Colonel 
George Washington, and to tread a measure In the 
giddy mazes of the dance to the twang of Mr. Thomas 
Jefferson's fiddle. Here the war tocsin, echoing from 
Lexington and Bunker Hill, shall find us and shall 
stir us to action again ; and, summoned by the Marine 

* United States Naval Academy, Annapolis, March 7, 1 902. 

t8i 



The Compromises of Life 

Congress, we shall go to Philadelphia to tell the 
Continental Congress how to set about the making of 
a navy. The resolution of Congress ordaining the en- 
sign of the Republic shall proclaim our commission as 
Post Captain. We shall loosen the first American flag 
from its pennant. And then, in our smart blue frock, 
with its brass buttons and buff facings, having given 
proof of capacity and mettle in home waters, we shall 
cross the ocean once more — this time in command of 
a frigate — and shall carry despatches from the Rebel 
Government in America to Dr. Franklin in Paris, an- 
nouncing the surrender of Burgoyne to Gates at Sara- 
toga. We are but just turned thirty, mark you; as 
handsome as the traditional prince in the fairy tale; 
a trifle under height, but strongly knit and stalwart, 
with olive complexion and gray, eagle eyes, and masses 
of tumbling black hair. We have learned to speak 
French with just enough accent to give piquancy to 
a sweet Scotch barytone, modulated by long usage in 
tropic and semi-tropic climes. The good old Doctor 
takes us to his arms — love — lasting, fatherly love — at 
sight. Nay, there is a great Duchesse; a great, royal 
Duchesse; who does yet more than this; for, rich be- 
yond the dreams of avarice, and romantic even beyond 
the dreams of the French women of her time, she opens 
her heart and purse, and gives us countenance and 
money, and with her own fair hand intrusts us with 
the jewelled chronometer of her royal grandsire, the 
182 



John Paul Jones 

most famous of the historic Admirals of France. But, 
let us not anticipate too much; let us begin at the be- 
ginning; for it is to John Paul Jones, the father and 
founder of the American navy, that I refer, and of 
whom I am about to speak. 

For more than a hundred years no name in history 
has been subjected to a misimpression at once so 
gross and so general as that of this world-renowned 
hero. In the mind's eye of the casual reader he was 
a wondrous sea-fighter indeed, but a sea-fighter of 
questionable credentials. Even friendly historians speak 
of him as "the daring corsair," unfriendly historians 
as "a freebooter," outright. ''Half pirate, half pa- 
triot" is the grudging epigram allowed him by neutral 
pens, having no motive for malevolence or misrepre- 
sentation. In a word, it is told that he was the merest 
adventurer, who played a brilliant but unimportant 
part in the drama of the American Revolution, who 
lived the life of a rover and died neglected in a foreign 
land. What wonder that the novel-writers and the 
play-makers — upon such jaundiced historic warrant — 
have wrought havoc with his fame, have done his very 
glory to death, in their absurd romances and empty 
theatricals. 

Yet was the career of this Bayard of the Ocean, this 
Wizard of the Briny Deep, as open as an open book. 
He was the trusted friend of Washington and Frank- 
lin and Jefferson. His genius blew the breath of life 

183 



The Compromises of Life 

into the sea-dreams of the young Republic, his words 
and deeds Inspiration to the dawning sea-power of the 
New World. Although by grace of his own Gov- 
ernment, for a little while a Russian Admiral and by 
that of the French King a Chevalier of France, he held 
but one commission, that of the United States of 
America; and when he died, the ranking officer of the 
American navy, In the splendor of a ripening man- 
hood, far and away the most famous sea-captain of 
the age — rich as riches went those days in this world's 
goods — the French Legislative Assembly, then in ses- 
sion, stood while the resolution to attend his funeral 
was passed. Gouverneur Morris, the American Min- 
ister, who had witnessed his will but a few hours be- 
fore his death, was so overcome by the tidings that he 
took to his bed. Three weeks later there came to his 
address. In Paris, direct from the hand of Washing- 
ton, orders to take charge of our complicated inter- 
ests In European waters — particularly with respect to 
the Barbary pirates — and had he lived a week longer 
he would have been made Admiral of France, with au- 
thority completely to overhaul and reorganize the 
French navy. There was what would even now be 
called a considerable bank account to his credit, for 
this canny Scotch laddie had been equally thrifty and 
daring, and left a goodly property to the two sisters 
who survived him. Seven or eight years after his death 
It IS related that Napoleon, stung by the phenomenal 
184 



John Paul Jones 

exploits of Nelson, exclaimed: ''Berthier, how old was 
Paul Jones when he died?" Berthier answered: "I 
think he was about forty-five, sire." "Mon Dieu!" ex- 
claimed the Corslcan; "if Paul Jones were alive now 
France would have an Admiral!" 

John Paul was the son of a poor Scotch gardener. 
He was born in the village of Arbigland and parish 
of Kirkbean, July 6, 1747. He died at Paris, July 18, 
1792. During the forty-five intervening years he made 
his mark upon two hemispheres. 

Solway Firth was his cradle, and before he had 
entered his teens he was a sailor. "That's my boy, 
John," said old John Paul, the gardener, his father, 
to Mr. Younger, the ship-owner of Whitehaven, as a 
small fishing-yawl beat up against an ugly squall in the 
offing, "never fear! He'll fetch her in. This isn't 
much of a blow for him." The lad was only twelve 
years old; but the ship-owner was so impressed that 
then and there he took him off as an apprentice; put 
him aboard one of his trading vessels bound for the 
Chesapeake, and started him on that career of exploit 
and achievement which ended only with his life. An 
elder brother, William Paul, had preceded him to Vir- 
ginia. This William Paul, adopted by a kinsman of 
the name of Jones, had taken the name of Jones; in 
course of time it was agreed that, if William Paul 
Jones died Intestate, little John Paul should succeed to 
the inheritance; and this actually coming to pass ex- 
185 



The Compromises of Life 

plains how John Paul became John Paul Jones. Dur- 
ing John Paul's life — and even after his death — some 
very ridiculous and wholly unfounded stories — ^more or 
less to his discredit — ^were told to account for a trans- 
action as commonplace as the transfer of property. 
Involved in a contemplated duel with Arthur Lee, 
which was happily averted, Lee exclaimed to a confer- 
ence of mutual friends against Jones's origin and 
change of name as denying him the recognition of an 
equal under the code of honor, when General Wayne 
— the famous Mad Anthony — hotly replied: "Sir, no 
one in this country can earn credit for himself by try- 
ing to bar Paul Jones from the rights of a gentleman. 
It makes no difference who his parents may have been 
or how many times he may have changed his name, 
the American people will never sustain a man in the 
pretence of barring from a gentleman's privileges the 
conqueror of the Drake and the Serapis!" As a mat- 
ter of fact, he never changed his name at all, merely 
adding Jones to John Paul, and he was but twenty- 
seven years of age when, succeeding to the Virginia 
estate, this happened. Immediately thereafter, getting 
together some cash of his own out of his seafaring en- 
terprises, and being tired of the merchant service — per- 
haps disgusted by the slave trade, of which he had a 
not unprofitable glimpse — having made a voyage or two 
to Africa and back to the region about Pimlico Sound 
— he resolved to give up roaming and to settle down 
i86 



John Paul Jones 

to the life of a country gentleman and landed proprie- 
tor in what was then a seeming paradise and the foun- 
tain-head of the Colonial aristocracy founded by Sir 
Walter Raleigh and Captain John Smith. 

There is abundant proof that he was cordially re- 
ceived and stood with the best while he pursued the 
sylvan idyl he had planned for himself. A handsome 
young fellow, fresh from a life of adventure, with land 
and slaves and money, is not held at arm's length by 
a provincial society, however exclusive. Paul Jones be- 
came something more than a local favorite — a social 
lion — and soon found occasion to signalize himself. 

Already the times were out of joint. The storm of 
revolution and war was about to break. Being at a 
ball in Norfolk, which was attended by some sprigs 
of His Majesty's navy belonging to a sloop then riding 
at anchor in Hampton Roads, an event occurred which 
greatly endeared Paul Jones at least to the ladies there- 
about. I shall relate this in the words of the young 
fire-eater himself. In a letter to his friend, Joseph 
Hewes, later on Chairman of the Marine Committee 
and signer of the Declaration of Independence, written 
the day after the event, he says: 

"The insolence of these young officers, particularly 
when they had gotten somewhat in their cups, was in- 
tolerable, and there could be no doubt that they rep- 
resented the feeling of the service generally. As you 
may hear imperfect versions of an affair brought on 
187 



The Compromises of Life 

by the insolence of one of them, I will take the liberty 
of relating it: In the course of a debate, somewhat 
heated, concerning the state of affairs, a lieutenant of 
the sloop-of-war, Parker by name, declared that in case 
of a revolt, or insurrection, it would be easily sup- 
pressed if the courage of the Colonial men was on a 
par with the virtue of the Colonial women. 

*'I at once knocked Mr. Parker down, whereupon 
his companions seized him and all hurried from the 
scene. . . . Expecting naturally that the aifair 
would receive further attention, I requested Mr. 
Granville Hurst, whom you know, to act for me ; sug- 
gesting only that a demand for satisfaction should be 
favorably considered, and that he should propose pis- 
tols at ten paces; place of meeting, Craney Island; 
time at the convenience of the other side. 

"To my infinite surprise, no demand came; but this 
morning on the ebb tide the sloop-of-war got under 
way and sailed, it is said, for Charleston." 

This Joseph Hewes, Jones's closest friend, was sub- 
sequently, as I have said, one of the North Carolina 
signers of the Declaration of Independence, an emi- 
nent and patriotic citizen, who, as a member of the 
Marine Committee, became virtually the first Secre- 
tary of the American navy. To the hour of his death, 
in 1779, there was maintained between him and the 
young sailor-planter a constant, confidential corre- 
spondence, which clearly reveals the character of his 
protege, showing him to have been nothing of the 
swashbuckler, or self-seeking soldier of fortune, but a 
sensitive, high-minded man, full of original ideas and 
noble aspirations. 

188 



John Paul Jones 

From his boyhood Paul Jones had been a student 
and the keeper of good company. On one occasion he 
had the misfortune to be obliged to strike down a 
mutinous sailor, who, transferred to another ship, sub- 
sequently died. The youthful captain, brought to trial, 
was acquitted. In answer to the question, "Are you 
satisfied in your conscience that you used no more force 
than was necessary to preserve discipline in your ship ?" 
Jones replied: "Sir, I would say that it became neces- 
sary to strike the mutinous sailor. Whenever it be- 
comes necessary for a commanding officer to strike a 
seaman, it is also necessary to strike with a weapon. 
The necessity to strike carried with it the necessity to 
kill or to completely disable the mutineer. I had two 
brace of loaded pistols in my belt and could easily have 
shot him. I struck with a belaying-pin, in preference, 
because I hoped I might subdue him without killing 
him. But the result proved otherwise. I trust that the 
Court will take due account of the fact that, though 
provided with pistols, carrying ounce balls, necessarily 
fatal weapons, I used a belaying-pin, which, though a 
dangerous, is not necessarily a fatal weapon." 

Paul Jones reached Philadelphia at the bidding of 
the Marine Committee of Congress July i8, 1775. 
He was at once taken into confidential relations, 
placed upon a committee of experienced persons to 
consider naval ways and means, and promised a com- 
mission as soon as there was official authorization. 
189 



The Compromises of Life 

There followed many vexatious delays and some dis- 
appointments. Even thus early sectional jealousies be- 
gan to show themselves, and since Washington, a Vir- 
ginian, had been named General-in-Chief of the army, 
John Adams, the foremost representative of New Eng- 
land, claimed the lion's share of the navy captains and 
got it. He seems to have been particularly hostile to 
Jones. And hereby hangs a tale. The handsome Scot 
became quite a beau in the society of the Quaker City, 
and of this society the gayest centre was the mansion 
of the Carrolls, of Carrollton, where Jones was a con- 
stant and favored guest. At an evening party, which 
included both the future President and the embryo Ad- 
miral, Mr. Adams, who was nothing if not pedantic, 
undertook to recite in French to a company of young 
ladies thoroughly versed in that language a fable of 
Fontinelle. It may be assumed that neither his accent 
nor his version was strictly Parisian ; and, after he had 
gone, the young ladies turned to Mr. Jones and asked 
what he thought of Mr. Adams's French, when Jones, 
with something of the superciliousness of the coxcomb, 
along with the audacity of youth, exclaimed: "It is 
fortunate that Mr. Adams's politics is not as English 
as his French, because, if it was, he would be a Tory!" 
The epigram cost him dear. An Adams is never to 
be trifled with. The bon-mot in due season reached the 
ears of the sturdy old patriot, and when the list of the 
new navy appointments appeared the name of John 
190 



John Paul Jones 

Paul Jones, who had reason to expect nothing less 
than a Captaincy, led only the First Lieutenants! 

War equally upon sea and land is a great leveller. 
Mr. Adams had his way. But, of the "political skip- 
pers," as his nominees came to be called, but one, 
Nicholas Biddle, made his mark ; all too soon gloriously 
passing from the scene; while of the rest, the ranking 
officer was dismissed from the service after his first 
cruise, and the others fell into innocuous desuetude, sur- 
viving the war, leaving Jones alone to give the world 
assurance that we were possessed of a navy. It is a 
suggestive coincidence that Jones was first to receive 
his commission, that it was he who hoist the first 
flag of the Continental Congress, and that, later on, 
the resolution of Congress defining the Stars and 
Stripes as the ensign of the Republic named him to 
command the crack frigate of the time. This was 
enough. It squared the account. Jones accepted it as 
more than compensation — as an augury of the future. 
"The flag and I are twins," said he; "born the same 
hour from the same womb of destiny. We cannot be 
parted in life or In death. So long as we can float we 
shall float together. If we must sink, we shall go down 
as one." 

October 17, 1777, is a red-letter day in Amer- 
ican annals. On that day the best accredited, the 
haughtiest, and most self-confident of British com- 
manders yielded his army and his sword to the Amer- 
191 



The Compromises of Life 

icans. Outgeneralled by Schuyler all the way from 
Fort Edward to Ticonderoga, flayed alive by Stark at 
Bennington, harassed from Bemis Heights by Morgan, 
and finally in the open at Freeman's farm and at Still- 
water, beaten and dismayed by the intrepidity and the 
dash of Arnold, John Burgoyne surrendered to Ho- 
ratio Gates at Saratoga Springs. It was the turning- 
point in the War of the Revolution. It snatched the 
cause of the Colonials from the jaws of despair. It 
secured us the alliance with France. That John Paul 
Jones was the naval captain chosen to carry the news 
to Europe in the first Yankee frigate that ever crossed 
the ocean seems a kind of disposition of Providence: 
for no other man could have done what he did with 
the succeeding opportunity; and yet there were both 
method and foresight in the circumstance. Jones gave 
good reason why an armed cruiser should be sent 
abroad. He gave good reason why he himself should 
command her. In the end, he more than justified his 
promises. But of that later on. In the stanch frigate 
Ranger he sailed from Portsmouth, N. H., and cleared 
the Isles of Shoals at daylight the morning of No- 
vember I, 1777, having received the evening before 
sealed despatches from Congress to its foreign repre- 
sentatives, and returning by the courier that brought 
them the assurance, "I will spread this news through 
France in thirty days." He did actually cast anchor 
in the Loire just below Nantes, December 2d, follow- 
192 



John Paul Jones 

ing, in thirty-two days' time, an unexampled passage, 
and, posting direct to Paris, placed his priceless mes- 
sage with its accompanying documents in the hands of 
Dr. Franklin early the morning of the 5th. And here 
begins in reality the career of this truly wonderful 
man. 

He was now just passed thirty years of age. He 
was among living seamen unsurpassed in varied, all- 
around experience. His soul was permeated by the 
spirit of the Revolution. Above all, he was a man of 
genius, of God-given genius ; shaped and pointed by the 
cool intrepidity of a level head and the noble prompt- 
ings of an heroic heart. By a flash of prescience the 
great old doctor recognized in the handsome young 
sailor the born leader of men. He was hardly less a 
captivator of women. Miss Edes-Herbert speaks of 
him as "exquisitely handsome," and of his features as 
"delicate almost to the point of effeminacy." But let 
me read you a more elaborate and precise description. 
I quote from contemporary French authority: 

"A man of about thirty-eight years; five feet seven 
inches tall ; slender in build ; of admirably symmetrical 
form, with noticeably perfect development of limbs. 
His features are delicately moulded, of classical cast, 
clear-cut, and, when animated, mobile and expressive 
in the last degree, but, when in repose, sedate almost 
to melancholy. His hair and eyebrows are black, and 
his eyes are large, brilliant, piercing, and of a peculiar 
dark gray tint that at once changes to lustrous black 

193 



The Compromises of Life 

when he becomes earnest or animated. His complex- 
ion is swarthy, almost like that of a Moor. 

"He is master of the arts of dress and personal 
adornment, and it is a common remark that, notwith- 
standing the comparative frugality of his means, he 
never fails to be the best-dressed man at any dinner 
or fete he may honor by attending. His manners are 
in comport with his make-up. His bearing is that of 
complete ease, perfect aplomb, and also martial to the 
highest degree; but he has a supple grace of motion 
and an agile facility of gait and gesture that relieve 
his presence of all suspicion of affectation or stiff- 
ness. 

"To all these charms of person and graces of man- 
ner he adds the power of conversation, a store of rare 
and original anecdotes, and an apparently inexhaust- 
ible fund of ready, pointed wit, always apropos and 
always pleasing, except on the infrequent occasions 
when he chooses to turn it to the uses of sarcasm and 
satire. Next to the magic of his eyes is the charm of 
his voice, which no one can ever forget, man or 
woman, who has heard it. It is surely the most 
musical and perfectly modulated voice ever heard, and 
it is equally resistless in each of the three languages he 
speaks — English, French, and Spanish. 

"It is difficult, when one sees the Chevalier Paul 
Jones in the affairs of society or hears his discourse at 
dinner-table or in salon, to believe that this is one and 
the same person as the ruthless sea-fighter; hero of the 
most desperate battles ever fought on the ocean, and, 
for the first time in history, the conqueror of those 
who had conquered the sea! 

"In all his personal habits he is moderate, not given 
to excesses of any kind, either of food or of drink, but 
always temperate and under the most perfect self-com- 
mand." 

194 



John Paul Jones 

Such was the man who had come to France to bring 
tidings of the first great American victory on land, and 
to launch in European waters a series of exploits un- 
exampled on the sea; to carry the Colonial rebellion 
home to the very doors of Britain; to give the world 
assurance that the shadowy figures seen but dimly 
across the Atlantic Ocean were real men, and not mere 
martial figures of speech and myths of political fancy; 
to confirm the French alliance which his arrival fore- 
shadowed and hastened, and, dazzling the sensibilities 
of contemporary mankind, to send a name down the 
ages to keep company with the names of Rodney and 
Drake and Nelson. 

Jones encountered the impediments and delays in- 
cident to the peculiar situation to which he had at once 
to address himself. While he went to Paris, and later 
on made an official though clandestine visit to Amster- 
dam to inspect a cruiser under contract and construc- 
tion there, he had left the Ranger in the dock-yard at 
Brest. When he returned he found that his second in 
command, Simpson, had stirred up some dissatisfaction 
among the crew. Indeed, he learned that Simpson had 
been assuming some wholly superfluous airs of author- 
ity. He lost no time in calling Simpson down. "Mr. 
Simpson," said he, *1 command this ship. I command 
this ship by virtue of my senior rank, by virtue of the 
resolution of Congress dated June 14th last, and 
by virtue of the order of the Commissioners dated Jan- 
195 



The Compromises of Life 

uary i6th last. But I waive these considerations. As 
far as you are concerned, I will say only that I com- 
mand this ship by virtue of the fact that I am person- 
ally the best man aboard, a fact which I shall cheer- 
fully demonstrate to you at your pleasure." 

Simpson was a brave man. But he desired no further 
proof or parley. There was in consequence no demon- 
stration, and all was made ready to sail April lOth, it 
being now the latter part of March, 1778. 

The day before this important event the Duchesse 
de Chartres gave a luncheon to Captain Jones at her 
villa just outside of Brest, where her husband, the 
Duke, was in naval authority. This Duke, afterward 
the famous Philippe Egalite, had met Jones three 
years before off Hampton Roads, and a liking had 
sprung up between them. The Duchesse, introduced 
to the young Colonial by her husband himself, took a 
fancy to him; a very serious and lasting fancy, as it 
proved; a fancy that meant patronage and standing at 
Court, and money; for this royal personage — royal by 
nature as well as by birth — this Adelaide de Bourbon, 
great-granddaughter of the Grand Monarch, and 
mother of the yet-to-be citizen king — was the richest 
princess In Europe. At the luncheon which she gave 
to Jones were the chief officers of the French fleet 
riding at anchor In the harbor, among them, of course, 
the ranking Admiral, Count D'OrvIUIers. Naturally 
the company talked "shop" at table, and the famous 
196 



John Paul Jones 



battle off Malaga, in which the Duchesse's grand- 
father, the Count de Toulouse, had commanded the 
French, coming up for review, Jones showed such sur- 
prising knowledge of every detail, and defended so 
skilfully the tactics of his hostess's progenitor, that, in 
a burst of enthusiasm and gratitude, she caused to be 
brought from her jewel-case a Louis Quinze watch of 
rare design and great value, which her grandfather had 
worn, and presented this to Jones. Though taken 
aback, the embryo hero had wit and presence of mind 
enough to say: "May it please your royal highness, if 
fortune favor me, I shall one day lay an English frigate 
at your feet." How faithfully he kept the promise we 
shall presently see. 

Thus it was that Captain John Paul Jones put to 
sea in the Yankee frigate Ranger, the Stars and Stripes 
flying from her mast-head, saluted by the guns of 
D'Orvilliers as he passed the French fleet — the first 
salute from foreign guns that flag ever received — and 
thus he began the career of havoc and glory which 
made his name a terror to English hearts from the 
Isles of Scilly to the Hebrides, from the Texel to the 
Bay of Biscay, a terror that deepened into hate, red- 
olent of falsehood and defamation, and, with narrow- 
minded and ignorant people, surviving even to this 
present day. 

This initial cruise in foreign waters lasted from 
April loth to May 8th, and extended from Brest 
197 



The Compromises of Life 

Roadstead through St. George's Channel northwardly 
and out around Land's End and back by the West 
Irish coast, embracing a descent upon St. Mary's 
Isle, the seat of Castle Selkirk, and upon the port of 
Whitehaven, the first to carry off the Earl of Selkirk 
a prisoner of war, the second to destroy shipping assem- 
bled in Whitehaven harbor. The Earl of Selkirk was 
not at home, and adverse winds limited the contem- 
plated destruction to a single ship. But Jones was 
more fortunate in the open sea, where late in the 
afternoon of April 24th he encountered and cap- 
tured His Majesty's sloop-of-war, the Drake, twenty 
guns and one hundred and fifty-seven officers and 
men, "after a hard-fought battle," as he describes 
it, "of one hour and four minutes pure and simple 
broadsiding at close range." Jones had one hundred 
and twenty-six, all hands at quarters, and eighteen 
guns. The Drake's battery embraced sixteen nine- 
pounders and four four-pounders; Jones's guns were 
only fourteen nine-pounders and four sixes. The like 
had never been known before. When Jones brought 
his prize back to Brest the Frenchmen could hardly 
believe the evidence of their own senses. That an Eng- 
lish man-of-war could be made to surrender to an in- 
ferior enemy seemed inconceivable. But there was the 
proof before their eyes, and from that moment Jones 
was immortal. Splendid were the fetes in his honor. 
He had swept the English coast; he had made two 
198 



John Paul Jones 

forays on English soil; he had taken six prizes, saving 
three of them; and, strangest of all, he had forced an 
armed English cruiser of superior metal to strike her 
colors, had taken her bodily and alive, and had lived to 
fetch her into a French port. 

I shall not dwell upon the many things that fol- 
lowed. With all his honors thick upon him he was 
not, as the old saying hath it, yet out of the woods. He 
had much to encounter; vexatious delays inevitable to 
French red-tapism; numerous obstructions, the off- 
spring of official bungling on the part of the American 
representatives; another serious bout with poor Simp- 
son, a not ill-intentioned nor an uncourageous simple- 
ton; some serious financial difficulties promoted by 
wrangling among the commissioners and the fiscal au- 
thorities, and finally relieved only by the belated sale 
of his captures and the realization of prize-money he 
counted on and had a right to, long before he got it; 
the ultimate loss of the Ranger, which was ordered 
home, and a great deal of wearisome journeying be- 
tween Brest and Paris. Jones carried himself, all the 
circumstances considered, with forbearance and forti- 
tude. Franklin backed him from first to last, even 
John Adams concurring; but he had to wait a long 
time — more than half a year — for the clouds of un- 
certainty, of suspense bordering at times on despair, to 
roll by. His appeals to the King of France, to the 
Ministers and the Court, albeit supported by the in- 
199 



The Compromises of Life 

dorsement of the American Commissioners and the yet 
more potent influence of the Duchesse de Chartres, 
seemed for months to fall upon deaf ears. Indeed, it 
was at last through the direct agency of this noble lady 
that Jones obtained audience of the King. It came 
about in the afternoon of December 17, 1778, and 
lasted for more than an hour. Louis was impressed, 
as all were impressed who came in contact with 
this fascinating man-at-arms. As a consequence the 
royal command was issued directing the Minister of 
Marine what to do; and, by the middle of February, 
Jones was superintending the reconstruction of an old 
East Indiaman, Le Duras, which had been assigned 
him, with permission to levy upon the French for what 
recruits he required, and at the same time by an order 
upon the Treasury for the necessary funds to complete 
her armament. 

Despair was now succeeded by elation. The 
Duchesse de Chartres, not satisfied with what she had 
done, sent for our hero and presented him a purse 
containing nearly fifty thousand dollars for his per- 
sonal expenses; a sum equal in purchasing power to a 
hundred or even a hundred and fifty thousand dollars 
in our day. Five or six years later, when Jones was 
flush of money, he proposed the repayment of this sum. 
The Duke de Chartres, now the Duke of Orleans, 
whom he approached on the subject, said : "If you men- 
tion it to her she will dismiss you from her presence 
200 



John Paul Jones 



and banish you from her esteem forever. She did not 
lend the money to you, she gave it to the cause." No- 
ble, hapless lady! She deserved far better of fate than 
she received! 

In honor of his friend, Dr. Franklin, Jones changed 
the name of his ship from Le Duras to the Bon- 
homme Richard ; and thus the name of "poor Richard," 
the peaceful philosopher of pre-Revolutionary fame, 
became intertwined forever with the greatest single 
feat of arms on land, or sea, of which the annals of 
battle give us any account; fit associates indeed, since, 
next to Washington, Franklin will survive in history 
as the father of Colonial independence and the progeni- 
tor of the American Republic. When Jones finally set 
sail it was a little squadron he was supposed to com- 
mand; for three other vessels sailed with him, the Al- 
liance, the Pallas, and the Vengeance. But, as it fell 
out, Jones had no real power; was so circumscribed as 
to be really master only of his own ship ; and, as the se- 
quel proved, he was very nearly destroyed by the Al- 
liance, a fine new Yankee-built frigate, commanded by 
a certain Pierre Landais, a half-crazy adventurer and 
disgraced naval officer, who, while commanding a mer- 
chant vessel in American waters, had picked up a Con- 
tinental commission by chance and fraud, and who very 
nearly ruined the expedition. It seems a miracle that 
he did not; for, beginning by fouling the Richard the 
first day out, he ended by twice pouring into her square 
20I 



The Compromises of Life 

broadsides at critical moments during her combat with 
the Serapis. 

"At daybreak, August 14th," says Jones in his re- 
port to Dr. Franklin, "the little squadron under my 
orders sailed from the Road of Groix." The cruise 
lasted fifty days. It embraced a circuit of the British 
Islands from west to east, and sailing north about, 
ended in the Texel October 3, 1779. Never be- 
fore, or since, was there such a cruise, either as to 
obstacles to be met and overcome, or as to dazzling and 
romantic achievement. It was sufficiently audacious in 
its conception. But in execution it was sublime, for 
what stretch of fancy could prefigure the possibility of 
a commander losing his own ship, yet coming ofE from 
the bloodiest of duels victorious and in possession of 
the ship of his superior adversary? 

This duel between the Bonhomme Richard and the 
Serapis was fought the evening of Thursday, Sep- 
tember 23, 1779, between the hours of 7.15 and 
11.30 o'clock, off Flamboro Head, a promontory 
which juts out from the English coast into the North 
Sea very nearly opposite the Texel, an island port of 
the Netherlands. The Serapis was the finest of Eng- 
lish frigates, and but newly off the stocks. The 
Richard was an old East India tub, done over. The 
Serapis carried guns that threw three hundred and 
fifteen pounds of metal to the broadside. The 
Richard's guns would not throw more than two hun- 
202 



John Paul Jones 

drcd and fifty-eight. The Serapis was manned by 
three hundred and seventeen of the best men in the 
British naval service, commanded by one of the bravest 
and most skilful English naval officers, Captain, after- 
vi^ard Sir Richard Pearson. The Richard w^as manned 
by a mixed ctqw of Frenchmen, Americans, and other 
foreigners picked up at random, embracing, all told, 
three hundred and ten fighting men. In the midst of 
the action Jones had to displace his master gunner on 
account of incapacity, if not of insubordination. Twice 
during the action the Richard was raked by her con- 
sort, the Alliance, commanded by the traitor Landais, 
and was otherwise so riddled as to become nearly un- 
manageable. After all was over she sank to the bot- 
tom of the sea. At no time was she a match for the 
Serapis. The crucial point was that Jones succeeded 
in locking his wretched hulk with the English frigate 
hard and fast, and of keeping her so, and then, re- 
ducing the battle to a man-to-man affair, of ending with 
the complete ascendancy of his motley tatterdemalions, 
inspired by his dauntless spirit and deployed by his in- 
comparable skill. 

At 10 o'clock, after nearly three hours of fighting, 
Jones's gun-room battery exploded. His ship dis- 
abled and afire, his flag almost shot from its ensign 
gaff and trailing in the water astern, amid a mo- 
mentary lull in the action the American was hailed 
by the Englishman and asked if he had struck his 
203 



The Compromises of Life 

colors. "No!" cried Jones, "I have only just begun 
to fight." 

The one objective point with Jones was to keep the 
two ships locked together until he was ready to board 
the Serapis and carry all by storm. The one hope of 
the Englishman was to cut loose, when his superior 
guns would sink the Richard in five minutes. Seeing 
the French commandant of marines quit his post upon 
the quarter of the Richard's deck, which covered the 
point of the English deck, where the chains of the two 
vessels were fouled, Jones leaped among the panic- 
stricken marines like a tiger among calves. Thence- 
forward he commanded this exposed position himself. 
There he stood, alternately laughing and swearing, 
laughing in English and swearing in French, as the 
exigency seemed to require; with his own hands firing 
musket after musket as they were loaded and passed 
to him by the men at his side, until, having lost fifteen 
shot down by his deadly aim, the English ceased to 
make any effort to cut loose. Jones's cocked hat blew 
overboard. A midshipman brought him another. 
"Never mind the hat, my boy," cried Jones, "put it 
back in the cabin. I'll fight this out in my scalp," 
cool as if on dress parade, with death and destruction 
all about him. Then there came another peril. The 
master-at-arms, John Burbank, believing that the Ri- 
chard was sinking, opened the orlop-hatch and released 
two hundred English prisoners confined below. Jones, 
204 



John Paul Jones 

enraged, struck the dastard down. Fortunately, not 
exceeding fifty of the liberated prisoners reached the 
upper deck. The rest were held in check, and finally 
subdued and made to work at the pumps; for the ship 
was in reality sinking. Meanwhile, however, the fire 
from the Richard's tops did not slacken, and was most 
effective. The English crew had been steadily driven 
to cover by this fire. Pearson's lower guns, although 
they continued to rake the Richard, were useless, be- 
cause they had done all the damage they could, and 
swept but an empty and abandoned shell. It was the 
sure fastening that kept the Richard afloat. Finally, 
between lO and ii o'clock, the decisive moment ar- 
rived. This was the order of Jones to make an effort 
to drop from the main yard-arm of the Richard some 
hand-grenades through the hatch and into the lower 
tier of the Serapis. Let Henry Gardner, master gun- 
ner in room of Arthur Randall, wounded and re- 
moved, tell the story: 

"In obedience to this I had a couple of buckets of 
grenades whipt up into the top, and with Midship- 
man Fanning and two seamen lay out on the yard- 
arm with a slow-match. 

"The hatch was not entirely open, the cover only 
having been slewed round, probably by one of our 
shot earlier in the action, leaving a triangular opening 
about two feet at the widest part. As the ships were 
rocking slightly in the swell, it took a pretty good aim 
to throw a grenade through so small an opening. 
205 



The Compromises of Life 

Still, Fanning did it at the third trial, when a terrible 
explosion occurred in the enemy's lower tier, by which 
the whole of the hatch was blown open, and so much 
noise, flame, and smoke made that we at first thought 
it was the magazine. 

"We soon afterward learned that the explosion was 
caused by the powder-monkeys of the enemy bringing 
up cartridges faster than they could be used, and leav- 
ing them strung along the deck in the wake of the 
guns, some of the cartridges being broken open and 
loose powder falling out of them. Nathaniel Tan- 
ning's hand-grenade had exploded in the midst of these 
cartridges, firing the whole train. Not less than fifty 
of the enemy's crew were killed or crippled by the 
explosion. 

"After the battle the prisoners said, without excep- 
tion, that they had no more stomach for fighting after 
the explosion, and were induced to return to their guns 
and resume firing only by their strict discipline and the 
example of their first lieutenant, who told them that 
if they would hold out a few minutes longer the 
Richard would surely sink." 

The rest is soon told. In the beginning, Gardner 
relates, Jones had some trouble getting the Frenchmen 
to stand to their guns. By this time he had them 
nearly crazy with excitement. He was scarcely able to 
restrain them until he was ready to board. At length 
the signal was given. "Now is your time, John!" 
cried Jones to John Mayrant, "go in!" and over the 
rail they went, Mayrant, though already twice severely 
wounded, leading the way. The onset was terrific. 
They swarmed, like so many devils, driving the Eng- 
206 



John Paul Jones 

lish before them, while from the Richard's tops the 
murderous fire continued. Pearson was a brave man. 
He was an able commander. But he saw the futility 
of further resistance, and, with his own hands seizing 
the ensign halyards of the Serapis, he struck his flag 
himself. Catching a glimpse of Dale, through the 
smoke, on the Richard's quarter-deck. May rant cried, 
"He has struck; stop the firing. Come on board, 
Dick, and take possession." Then followed the stran- 
gest scene in naval history. Dale swung himself upon 
the main deck of the Serapis, where the brave, but 
beaten, Pearson stood awaiting him. "Sir," said Dale, 
"I have the honor to be the first lieutenant of the ship 
alongside, which is the American Continental ship, 
the Bonhomme Richard, under command of Commo- 
dore Paul Jones. What ship is this?" 

"His Britannic Majesty's late battle-ship Serapis," 
sadly replied Pearson, "and I am Captain Richard 
Pearson." 

"Pardon me. Captain," said Dale. "In the hurry 
of the moment I forgot to state that I am Richard Dale, 
and I must request you to pass to the ship alongside." 

At this moment the first lieutenant of the Serapis 
came up, and, observing Dale's uniform, asked Cap- 
tain Pearson if the enemy had struck. "No, sir," said 
Pearson, "I have struck." 

"Then," said the English lieutenant, "I will go be- 
low and order the men to cease firing." 
207 



The Compromises of Life 

"Pardon me, sir," said Dale, "I will attend to that ; 
you will yourself please accompany Captain Pearson 
to the ship alongside." 

They did so, finding Jones ready to receive them with 
his gracious and beautiful courtesy. The scene is thus 
described by Jones himself : 

"Captain Pearson now confronted me, the image of 
chagrin and despair. He offered me his sword with a 
slight bow, but was silent. His first lieutenant fol- 
lowed suit. I was sorry for both of them, for they 
had fought their ship better and braver than any Eng- 
lish ship was ever fought before, and this fortune of 
war came hard to them. I wanted to speak, but they 
were so sad and dignified in their silence I hardly knew 
what to say. Finally I mustered courage, and said, as 
I took the swords and handed them to Midshipman 
Potter at my elbow: 'Captain Pearson, you have 
fought heroically. You have worn this sword to your 
credit and to the honor of your service. I hope your 
sovereign will suitably reward you.' He bowed again, 
but made no reply ; whereupon I requested him and his 
lieutenant to accompany Mr. Potter to my cabin." 

The battle was over, the victory won. There was 
nothing now to do but look to the wounded, to bury 
the dead and to steer for port. Although it was past 
midnight the moon in a cloudless sky made it light as 
day. The Richard was cut away from her fouling 
chains, the sea being in a dead calm, and she drifted off 
a helpless wreck, seven feet of water in her hold, many 
shot-holes below the water-line, her guns disabled, upon 
208 



John Paul Jones 

her decks only a mass of dead and debris. Flamea in- 
creased the horror of the scene. Out of all that crew 
but one hundred able-bodied men remained to care for 
the survivors, to hold the prisoners and to manage the 
captive ship. Let Jones relate the last scene of all that 
ended the brief but glorious career of the Bonhommc 
Richard. I quote from his diary: 

"No one was now left aboard the Richard but our 
dead. To them I gave the good old ship for their 
coffin, and in her they found a sublime sepulchre. She 
rolled heavily in the long swell, . . . settled 
slowly by the head and sank peacefully in about forty 
fathoms. The ensign gaff, shot away in the action, 
had been fished out of the water and put in its place, 
and our torn and tattered flag was left flying when we 
abandoned her. As she plunged down by the head at 
the last her taffrail rose momentarily in the air; so the 
very last vestige mortal eyes ever saw of the Bon- 
homme Richard was the defiant waving of her uncon- 
quered and unstricken flag as she went down. And, 
as I had given them the good old ship for their sepul- 
chre, I now bequeathed to my immortal dead the flag 
they had so desperately defended for their winding- 
sheet!" 

It IS so easy to deal in superlatives. But who ever 
heard of the like ? One-third less the calibre of his ad- 
versary, with fewer men as to numbers, and they picked 
up at random, an old hulk against a new frigate, what 
can account for it? The gallant Captain Pearson, of 
the Serapis, was asked this question on the court-martial 
209 



The Compromises of Life 

that followed the disaster. As a tribute to the Ameri- 
can navy, I must read you his answer. It will be 
remembered that, as the action began. Captain Pearson 
said to his next in command, "This must be Paul 
Jones, and we are going to have trouble." On his 
court-martial, Captain Pearson being asked, "Has it 
been your experience that French seamen display so 
much stubbornness and courage?" replied: 

"No, sir. But to be perfectly clear in this case, I 
must inform the Court that long before the close of 
the action it became apparent that the American ship 
was dominated by a commanding will of the most un- 
alterable resolution, and there could be no doubt that 
the intention of her commander was, if he could not 
conquer, to sink alongside. And this desperate resolve 
of the American captain was fully shared and fiercely 
seconded by every one of his ship's company without re- 
spect to nationality. And, if the Court may be pleased 
to entertain an expression of opinion, I will venture to 
say that if French seamen can ever be induced by their 
own officers to fight in their own ships as Captain 
Jones induced them to fight in his American ship, the 
future burdens of His Majesty's navy will be heavier 
than they have heretofore been." 

Was ever such a tribute paid by one brave man to 
another ? 

Thus ended the greatest sea-fight of ancient or mod- 
ern times. To Europe, to the world, it was a revela- 
tion. Jones took his prize into the Texel. He had a 
long, wearisome time of it thereafter in his diplomatic 
210 



John Paul Jones 

and fiscal relations; but of his name and fame and 
standing as a naval commander there could not be and 
there was not the least equivocation. The King of 
France made him a Chevalier and presented him a 
sword. Paris went wild. The doors of the Palais 
Royal, where reigned the Duchesse de Chartres, soon to 
be the Duchesse d'Orleans, flew open wide. 

Defying convention, the Duchesse assigned a suite of 
apartments to her hero and entertained him as though 
he, too, had been born to the purple. She gave a great 
banquet in his honor. It was at this banquet that 
Jones fulfilled the promise he had made when, carrying 
the chronometer of the old Count de Toulouse for 
a timepiece he had first sailed in the Ranger. Choos- 
ing an opportune moment he asked the Duchesse if she 
remembered that, when two years before she had so 
honored him, he had said that if fortune favored him 
he would lay an English frigate at her feet. She re- 
membered it well. Jones had the sword of Pearson 
near at hand. Releasing this from its leathern case- 
ment and placing it before her, he said : 



"May it please your royal highness, it would be 
inconvenient, if not embarrassing, to undertake the 
literal fulfilment of my promise. The 'English 
frigate,' however, rides in the harbor of I'Orient with 
French colors flying from her mast-head. The best 
that I can do to keep my word is to lay at your feet 
the sword of the noble officer who commanded that 



The Compromises of Life 

English frigate. I have the honor to surrender to the 
loveliest of women the sword surrendered to me by the 
bravest of men — the sword of Captain the Honorable 
Richard Pearson, of His Britannic Majesty's late bat- 
tle-ship the Serapis." 



To this day, among the treasured heirlooms of the 
house of Bourbon-Orleans, this trophy is held not only 
as priceless, but as most impressive and unique. 

Jones was now the lion of the time, envied and some- 
times feared of men, adored of women. Did he fall in 
love? Had he already fallen in love? Was there a 
place in this fierce bosom for the tender passion? If 
we take the word of the play-makers and the novel- 
writers, he must have had half a hundred ladyloves, 
for each of them — and there are quite half a hundred 
of them ! — saddles him at least with one ; a true sailor, 
having a sweetheart in every port. But history has 
somehow failed to verify the conceits of romance. 
The story that he could have had any amorous connec- 
tion with Catherine of Russia is preposterous, though 
there is some reason to suspecc that the puissant and un- 
scrupulous Empress had designs not wholly official 
when she induced him to lend her his genius and his 
sword, and made him admiral. The one woman with 
whom his name is linked, and linked forever — who, 
from the hour she met him just after the famous sea- 
fight to the hour of his death, fourteen years afterward, 
stood nearest him, and, figuratively speaking, never 

212 



John Paul Jones 

quitted his side — for whose sweet sake he seemed to 
live, and, lest there be some scandal, for whose future 
he provided before he went hence — was Adele Aimee 
de Thelison. 

She was a natural daughter of Louis XV. by 
Madame de Bonneval, one of the many mistresses of 
that shameless monarch. She grew up in the court cir- 
cles, a foster-child of the old Marchioness de Marsan, 
and a protegee of the Duchesse de Chartres. Jones 
may have met her before his cruise in the Richard. It 
does not appear, however, that any intimacy sprang up 
between them until he returned from that cruise. 
Thenceforward she is his bonne camarade when in 
Paris; his constant, confidential correspondent when 
away from Paris. He was thirty-two, she twenty-one 
— relative ages which do not allow us to assume a state 
only of a platonic friendship. Yet in the many letters 
that survive, not an incriminating word. During the 
fourteen years of their relationship, not a breath of 
scandal. Evil to them that evil think. This cheva- 
lier, without fear and without reproach, stood between 
the very wind and the royal waif the wind had blown 
him. Almost in her arms he died ; and, he being gone, 
she disappears amid the mists that envelop the reign of 
blood and terror as though she had never existed, 
Beautiful spirit! sprung from a line of kings, though it 
may be from a line of courtesans, to irradiate for a 
while the life of a hero, then to fade away like an ex- 
213 



The Compromises of Life 

halation of the evening into the night of oblivion, leav- 
ing not a shade behind ! 

Would that history could say of Horatio Nelson 
what this chapter says of John Paul Jones ! 

I shall not speak of the Russian episode except as an 
episode, for it was nothing more. The War of the 
Revolution was ended. Jones had closed his accounts 
with the Marine Committee. We had no battle-ships, 
nor need of them, and, though he was now technically 
our ranking naval officer, there being no employment 
for him, he was free to accept service of Catherine; it 
was urged upon him, indeed, by Jefferson; though, as 
Franklin said it must be, it was a great mistake. "No 
man," exclaimed the doughty old doctor, "who had 
learned his lessons of battle, as Jones had, in the school 
of liberty, could ever serve acceptably in the cause or 
promote the aims of despotism." 

This proved to be as wise as it was far-seeing. 
Jones's genius gained the admiration of the great Su- 
warrow, with whom he acted conjointly against the 
Turks, but that admiration cost him nearly two years 
of humiliation and disappointment, and sowed the seeds 
of the disorder that hastened his death. 

He entered the Russian service as rear-admiral in the 
early spring of 1788, and on a two-years' leave of ab- 
sence quitted it in the late autumn of 1789. En route 
to St. Petersburg he had been commissioned America's 
plenipotentiary to Denmark, Returning by way of 
214 



John Paul Jones 

Vienna, he was the object of continuous distinction, 
finally reaching Paris, which, more than any other place, 
had been his home, the last of May, 1790. 

He took up his abode in a little house, having a gar- 
den, in the Rue de Tournon, which he had purchased, 
and here, with a few brief intervals of absence, he lived 
until the dread messenger — not dreaded by him — came 
to find him, his boots on, ready to meet man's final foe- 
man half way, and, as it were, cap-a-pie. When 
Madame Arbergne, his housekeeper, entered his apart- 
ment, about 9 o'clock the evening of July 18, 1792, 
Jones lay face downward across the middle of his 
couch, his arms outstretched, one hand clutching the 
counterpane, the other yet holding in its grasp the 
watch which Adelaide of Orleans had given him, her 
portrait upon the dial, by which he had always timed 
himself in battle. Fit finale for such a valiant ! 

But let us retrace our steps a few weeks. Jones on 
his return from Russia had found France in convul- 
sions. His friend, the King, was a captive in his own 
palace. His other friends, Lafayette and Mirabeau, 
were vainly attempting to stem the tide of revolution. 
Events swept onward with resistless velocity and force. 
Monarchy was gone. The convention was the state. 
Although Jones stood aloof, divided between his love of 
freedom and his loyalty to the royal master who had 
so honored him, a man of such resplendent genius and 
renown could not remain obscure. It was purposed to 
215 



The Compromises of Life 

reorganize the French navy from its foundation, and 
he had been selected for the task. Had he lived a week 
longer he would have been commissioned Admiral of 
France. 

Just one week before the end a supper was given in 
his honor by the leaders of the revolution at the Cafe 
Timon. Jones, though obviously a sick man, appeared 
to be mending and, alive with intellectual fire, was 
never more gracious and charming. Cambon was 
there, and Carnot, Barere, and Philippe Egalite, his 
old friend the Duke of Orleans. Lovingly, royally 
they feted and feasted him. At last, in response to the 
toast, "The Coming Admiral of France," Jones rose 
upon his feet and spoke to them. As an illustration of 
character this speech is notable ; as his last public utter- 
ance it deserves to be remembered and preserved. Al- 
low me to read it to you. After a few prefatory obser- 
vations, he said : 

"You all know my sentiments. I do not approve, I 
cannot in conscience approve, all that you have done, 
are doing, and, alas, intend yet to do. But I feel that 
I ought to take advantage of this — perhaps my last — 
opportunity to define clearly my attitude. 

"Whatever you do now, France does. If you kill 
my good friend the King, France kills him; because, 
as things are now ordered, the group of which a great 
majority is present here is France. Louis XIV. once 
said: 'I am the State.' You can say that you are the 
State with more truth. 

"My relations with the people across the Channel 

2l6 



John Paul Jones 

are known to all. Their enemies must be my friends 
everywhere; those whom they hate, I must love. As 
all here know, as all France knows, the progress of 
the French people toward liberty, and the promise that 
progress gives of new might to the French nation, fill 
the rulers of England with alarm and resentment. 
The day when this alarm will turn to hostility and this 
resentment be expressed by blows is not far off. 

"When that day comes, if I am able to stand a deck, 
I shall make no point of rank. I shall raise no ques- 
tion of political opinion. I shall only ask France to 
tell me how I can best serve her cause. 

"You have brought back to my ears the sound of 
many voices giving forth the lusty cheers of brave men 
in battle. Some of the faces of those men were of the 
American mould; but more were the faces of French- 
men. Some of those voices sounded in my native 
tongue, but more in the language of France. The 
Richard's crew was, as you know, considerably more 
than half Frenchmen. I cannot be immodest enough 
to say that I found it easy to teach them the art of 
conquering Englishmen. But I trust you will not 
think me vainglorious if I say that, in that combat, I 
at least did what, unfortunately, some French officers 
have not of late years done — I simply let my French- 
men fight their battle out. Now, I promise you that, 
if I live, in whatsoever station France may call me to 
lead her sons, I shall always, as I have done, when 
meeting the English or any other foe, let my French- 
men fight their battle out. 

"Citizens, we have to-day heard from the lips of the 
President of your Assembly the solemn warning, *Our 
country is in danger!' That admonition has come 
none too soon. Already the hosts of oppression are 
gathering upon your frontier. It is not the wish of 
those who wear the crowns of Europe that France 

217 



The Compromises of Life 

shall be free. Not long ago another country was in 
danger. Its people wished to be free, and though it 
was a land far across the sea, the hosts of despotism 
found it out and descended upon it. They were the 
hosts of a king, and some of them he hired like working 
oxen from other kings. 

"The struggle was long. For almost eight years the 
sound of cannon, the glare of the torch, and the wail- 
ing of widows and orphans filled that land. Truly it 
was in danger. But all that is past now — and why? 
Because France, brave, chivalric France, alone of all 
nations in the world, interposed her mighty arm to help 
the weak, and stay from its smiting the hand of the 
oppressor. 

"I have no title to speak for that country. But I 
can speak for one citizen of it. Count me with you. 
Enroll me in those hosts of deliverance upon whom 
the Assembly to-day called to rise en masse in defence 
of their lives, their liberties, and those whom they love. 
I am, as you see, in feeble health. Would that I were 
strong as when I long ago brought to France the news 
of Liberty's first great victory in the New World! 

"But ill as I am, there is yet something left of the 
man — not the Admiral, not the Chevalier — but the 
plain, simple man whom it delights me to hear you call 
'Paul Jones,' without any rank but that of fellowship, 
and without any title but that of comrade. So now I 
say to you that whatever is left of that man, be it never 
so faint or feeble, will be laid, if necessary, upon the 
altar of French Liberty, as cheerfully as a child lies 
down to pleasant dreams!" 

These are noble sentiments. They are expressed 
with a freedom and lucidity which recall the manner 
and method of Abraham Lincoln. Indeed, Jones, who 
2l8 



John Paul Jones 

had learned to speak and to write as Lincoln had 
learned, slowly, surely, and by his own unaided efforts, 
much resembled Lincoln in the simple force, the direct- 
ness, and clearness of his style. 

It was not to be. His course was run. The after- 
noon of July 1 8th he passed in the garden of his little 
house in the Rue de Tournon surrounded by his 
friends. They could not disguise from themselves the 
ominous truth; but he was cheerful even to gayety. 
About 5 o'clock Gouverneur Morris witnessed his will. 
Somewhat fatigued he retired to his apartment. Three 
hours later they found him dead. 

When notice of his death reached the National As- 
sembly all proceedings stopped ; standing, and in silence, 
the vote was passed to attend his funeral; and, except 
for the chaos that followed, his mortal remains, instead 
of being lodged in the foreign burying-ground tem- 
porarily, as was supposed, would have been committed 
to the Pantheon. More than fifty thousand dollars — 
a great sum in those days — lay to his credit in bank. 
Even the King during his illness had found time out of 
his own sorrows to send him messages of cheer. 

Gouverneur Morris, at once advised that the great 
admiral had passed away, was so overcome that he was 
struck down with nervous prostration. A few weeks 
after a package arrived from America. It contained 
his commission, signed by Washington, to be chief of 
the movement to extirpate the Barbary pirates, along 
219 



The Compromises of Life 

with a letter of effusion and eulogy from Jefferson, 
who, anticipating this present exigency, two years be- 
fore had thus written "the President" (that Is Wash- 
ington) "directs me to say that it does not seem neces- 
sary to indicate the Identity of that naval commander, 
to whom all eyes would be turned should the United 
States be able to fit out a squadron of magnitude suit- 
able to form a command for an officer of high rank 
and extraordinary distinction." Yet, in the face of all 
this, there are those who think he died a stranger in a 
strange land, obscure and poor. 

It is good for us as Americans, and it is particularly 
good for us upon the threshold of the new century, 
which has opened its portals without disclosing its se- 
crets to us, to turn back a century and to retrace the 
baby footsteps leading from the roof-tree that over- 
hung Liberty Hall in days that tried men's souls to 
the Arch of Triumph which spans the Campus Martius 
of the Great Republic in days which shall equally try 
their wisdom and their self-control. It is good to re- 
member what we were in considering what we are 
and what we shall be. We are not likely to forget 
Washington, and the statesmen and warriors who sur- 
rounded him; nor Franklin, nor Jefferson, nor Ham- 
ilton. But who shall tell us of Paul Jones, and the 
heroes who served with him, and the progeny that 
succeeded him? Who shall remind us of Dale and 
Mayrant, and Henry Gardner and the little French- 



John Paul Jones 

man, Girard, and of Decatur, and Barney, and Bain- 
bridge? The Stocktons and the Perrys came down 
into our own time, as did Morris and Stuart, and their 
fame has — may I call it so? — a modern "tag" attached 
to it. The * landlubbers," being at home, were able 
to take care of their posthumous interests. Not so the 
simple sailor folk; and I go back to the twilight time 
of Paul Jones, and Nick Biddle and Preble and old 
Isaac Hull and the rest, with a feeling that I am in 
some sort their attorney before the court of last resort. 
The mists of the oceans envelop them. The moon- 
beams and the stars shine for them by night. But the 
light of the sun in the meridian of his glory has failed 
somehow to blaze down upon the page that bears their 
names and deeds. I would recall them to you. At 
this moment, when we are passing — nay, when we have 
already passed — from the humiliating position of a 
huddle of provincial sovereignities into the wide open 
sea, freighted by the movements of mankind — a World 
Power — and the greatest of World Powers — let us not 
forget the homespun sources of our being, nor the men 
who laid the sure foundations on which we stand. 

It was the navy in the War of 1812 that secured us 
a footing in the court of arms. It was the navy in 
the sectional war, through its blockade of the South- 
ern ports, that made the Confederacy impossible. 
What shall I say that has not been said of Dewey and 
Manila? And of Santiago, the finishing stroke? The 
221 



The Compromises of Life 

lads we send out from Annapolis do their work far 
away from their base. They have the opportunity to 
make few friends, and no partisans on shore. But, in 
proportion as they are removed from the direct vision 
of their own countrymen, they are brought under the 
direct vision of the world at large. They are not 
vedettes ; because they are not under orders to run away 
at the first fire. They are not pickets; because they 
must sustain the brunt of the attack, and sometimes 
all the attack, without support. They cannot get 
away. Except as the winds and the waves direct, they 
must stand and fight. Paul Jones began it. Dewey 
and Sampson and Schley and Evans ended it ; and there 
are "others," as the saying hath it, not forgetting Hob- 
son and Victor Blue. Forgive me! I did not mean 
to be personal. I mean merely that the navy of the 
United States has not had just quite its "even" with 
the army; that it has a right to it; and that in the 
coming years, when what our great Mahan calls "sea 
power" has come to be understood, it will get it; and, 
when it gets it, though Decatur, the Perrys, and Far- 
ragut will stand high, and Porter will stand high, and 
Dewey will stand high, the name of John Paul Jones, 
even like that of Abou Ben Adhem, "will lead all the 
rest." 



222 



Ill 

ADDRESSES 



a23 



THE AMERICAN NEWSPAPER* 

It will not be considered irrelevant, I trust, if, 
standing in the presence of an association of editors, 
I proclaim a long-cherished and well-defined belief in 
societies which build themselves upon the noble prin- 
ciple of mutual admiration; nor will you charge me 
with an excess of loyalty if I add that, while respect- 
ing them the more the larger and the stronger they be- 
come, I am by no means indifferent to their advan- 
tages where they are not so imposing and numerous, 
but happen to be reduced within the compass of quad- 
rilateral lines. Because, my friends, all considerable 
eminence springs in a measure out of that w^hich is 
called in common life the co-operative system. We 
are living in an epoch not of miracles but of mechan- 
ics; of multitudinous social, scientific, and professional 
complexities; and instead of its being true that a man 
of parts gets on faster and fares better without assist- 
ance and encouragement, the reverse is true. One 
mind aids another; one hand holds up another; one 
heart cheers another; and, as a man is really an able 
man, the greater need and use he has for his supports, 

* Indiana Press Association, Indianapolis, May i, 1873, 
225 



The Compromises of Life 

for that reserved force, without which battles could 
never be won, nor great edifices constructed, nor po- 
litical organisms set in motion, nor newspapers made 
up and issued. Neither is this indispensable help 
purely muscular and artificial; it is often spiritualistic 
and intellectual, illustrating the homely saying that 
"two heads are better than one, though one is a sheep's 
head." 

Men of genius have in all times sought association 
and moved in clusters. There was the Shakespearean 
cluster; there was the cluster which collected itself 
about the figure of old Sam Johnson; and there is in 
our day and country a notable cluster circling around 
Agassiz and giving to Boston the title of the Modern 
Athens; a mutual admiration society which Holmes 
has boldly avowed and defended, but which wants for 
no defence, being a most natural and reasonable broth- 
erhood of poets, savants, and men of affairs. This so- 
ciety has been represented in courts, in senates, and in 
cabinets, and its members, scarcely more by the special 
gifts of each than by the honest help and appreciation 
of all, are known throughout the world. 

You will recall that the lion in the fable, who was 
shown a picture representing one of his race lying pros- 
trate beneath the foot of a triumphant human animal, 
observed, in his facetious, leonine way, that the situa- 
tion would be reversed if a lion, instead of a mortal, 
had been the artist. Now it is given the journalist to 
226 



The American Newspaper 

be at once the lion and the artist, a creator and a critic ; 
to depict his own profession; to extol and magnify it; 
to write it up, as the saying goes; and, despite some 
occasional delinquencies and disfigurements in his 
method, he has used this advantage so industriously 
and at times so skilfully that journalism has come to 
be what it was not when he first gave out the conceit — 
"a veritable Fourth Estate." The freedom of the 
press, obtained at length even more securely by the 
victories it is achieving over dependence and subsidy 
than by the liberality of the laws which guarantee it, 
is a sort of popular religion; and so truly is our journal- 
ism realizing the pretty commonplaces with which it 
once, in the days of its bondage and gloom, consoled 
itself, so thoroughly is it coming to reflect the thoughts, 
the customs, and the manners of the age, and to be 
actually and not figuratively 

— "a map of busy life, 
Its fluctuations and its vast concerns," 

that thoughtful people, paraphrasing the race-course 
epigram of Randolph of Roanoke, are beginning to ask, 
if the press controls the country who is to control the 
press? It is this suggestive inquiry, considered both 
as a matter of professional ethics and a question of 
popular interest — considered with reference to the 
strength and weakness of American journalism, its 
power and its shortcoming, what it is and what it is 
227 



The Compromises of Life 

like to be — to which I shall ask your attention and beg 
your indulgence ; for, potential as the press undoubtedly 
is, and immensely elevated in its conditions and per- 
spectives, I suppose none of us will pretend that it is 
not the subject of many drawbacks and abuses. 

I am fully persuaded that, take it for all and all, the 
journalism of America is the very best in the world. 
It is a complete answer to the ancient sneer of the 
cockneys touching our books, for, in truth, it is begin- 
ning largely to constitute our literature. I do not 
mean to disparage Longfellow and Whittier and Low- 
ell, Motley and Bancroft; and I hope I shall not be 
suspected of seeking to steal a titular distinction for our 
craft at the expense of our greatest humorist, if I de- 
clare that the morning paper is the only autocrat of the 
breakfast-table. When I consider the labor and the 
learning that are devoted to books which will be for- 
tunate if they get eight or ten thousand readers, and ob- 
serve the increasing audiences which are gathering about 
the bulletin-boards, I mourn in silence, but in sorrow, at 
the sight of such young men as Bret Harte and Joaquin 
Miller and Mark Twain throwing themselves away, 
and I rejoice and am exceeding glad in the salvation 
to journalism and the world of a soul so precious as 
that of John Hay. Badinage aside, my serious mean- 
ing is that every age has its interpreter; there was the 
age of the drama; there was the age of the pamphlet; 
there was the age of the novel. This is the age of the 
228 



The American Newspaper 

newspaper. The journalist is to-day what but a little 
while ago the novelist was; what a little while before 
that the dramatist was, the observed of all observers, for 
he is an exceptional creature, a new creation, a man, in- 
deed, like his fellow-men, but possessed with strange, 
invisible powers, which affect men's lives, fortunes, and 
characters; not merely an abstract and brief chronicle 
of the time, as the player used to be said to be; some- 
thing other than a myth or an almanac. There will 
never again be a Dickens or a Dumas. The romance of 
yesterday, with its moving incidents and real figures, 
will engage the interest of vigorous writers as they en- 
gage that of the public, and, as fictitious situations and 
conditions are nearly, if not quite, exhausted, actual sit- 
uations and conditions, brilliantly written out for the 
daily newspaper, will take the place of imaginary scenes 
and passions. I am myself, at this moment, diligently 
seeking for a young Thackeray to sketch society ; for a 
young Cooper, to go upon the frontier and "do" the 
Modocs; for a young "Boz," to take the place of a very 
inadequate police reporter; and for a young Bulwer to 
do duty as a general utility man. I make no doubt of 
finding what I want; and the likelihood is that, when 
found, they will issue from strange places, just as there 
is the certainty that they will enter upon a broad, new 
field with boundless opportunities. What a "hit" 
George Alfred Townsend made; then Don Piatt; and 
along with them McCullagh. Did Thackeray ever do 
229 



The Compromises of Life 

wittier work than Don Piatt? Did ever Dickens 
write more graphically than George Alfred ? Was not 
McCuUagh more quoted, did he not exercise a greater 
influence on his country by his letters, than any writer 
of his time? Yet they are but crude examples; they 
worked in the dark; they worked much against them- 
selves, like the old poets, like Marlowe, Decker, and 
Otway, who were half ashamed of their calling, and 
held in disrepute by those who were not fit to tie their 
shoe-strings. I name them to illustrate what may be 
done by men of genius, who have not a financial stake 
in the press, and do not own and manage newspapers, 
getting their fame and their fortune ofiE the brains of 
obscure, ill-paid subordinates. As Congreve and Sheri- 
dan were, as Dickens and Thackeray were, the journal- 
ist may be, and partly is, already; a man in whom a 
public interest, great or less, according to his genius, is 
taken ; a man who, loving his fellow-men, has it in his 
power to help them and to be loved by them. 

The process is very simple. To be kindly, honest, 
fearless, capable, that is all ; and I name kindliness first, 
because if a newspaper would be popular it must, like 
an individual, carry a pleasant aspect; it must be amia- 
ble and unpretentious ; speaking the language and wear- 
ing the habiliments of the people; bone of their bone 
and flesh of their flesh, a sincere as well as an effective 
deliverer of their thoughts, wishes, and fancies. If 
Shakespeare lived In our time, conceiving him to have 
230 



The American Newspaper 

been a robust, blithe, and hearty person ; conceiving him 
to have been what we understand by an able person and 
an able-bodied, and, withal, a most representative, gay, 
and festive person, I take leave to doubt whether he 
would find the drama the best vehicle for his overflow- 
ing wisdom, his exuberant wit, humor, and fancy, his 
ajmazing activity; and I wonder that a man of such 
varied and large resources, of such vigorous, current, 
and racy faculties as Dion Boucicault should be com- 
paratively a poor man, wandering about the world and 
writing plays, when he might be, had he bent himself 
that way, the editor of the London Times. 

I do not name the London Times as a first-rate 
example of a first-class newspaper. There is no journal 
of the first class in London. I am not able to say 
what the Times may have been in the days of Mr. 
Kinglake's somewhat apocryphal, shrewd, idle clergy- 
man, who made it his business to loiter about places 
of common resort and find out what people thought 
upon the principal topics of the time. The press of 
London is, and has been, since I became acquainted 
with it, a pretentious jumble of incompletions ; very 
polished and very dull ; reminding one of those elabo- 
rate dramatic compositions which are said to be writ- 
ten for the closet. I doubt whether it is not at its 
best, and wholly discredit the story of the parson, or at 
least the parson's knack of catching the popular 
thought by lounging about the clubs and then of com- 
231 



The Compromises of Life 

municating it to a stilted person, seated on a tripod, to 
be thence distilled into England's next day's cup of 
coffee. You might as well put an ear-trumpet to a rose 
and expect to draw its essence as hope to gather the 
public sense in that way — 

"To catch a dragon in a cherry net, 
To trip a tigress with a gossamer, 
Were wisdom to it." 

That which makes the journalist strong is that which 
makes the poet inspired, the inner light, the intuitive 
faculty to interpret, which cannot be had of books or 
be got from loafers, no matter how observant and as- 
tute they be; it is a faculty which can indeed be cul- 
tivated ; but it is, in its origin, a mirrory, mercurial es- 
sence, the vivider as it is the purer, reflecting without 
consciousness and almost without effort, and accurately 
reflecting, the average mood and tense, themselves de- 
pendent on average commonplaces of interest and af- 
fection — of the men and women in whose midst the 
journalist lives, moves, and has his being. Defoe, 
Steele, and Addison were journalists in this sense; 
Swift and Cobbett were partly so; and, in our time, 
differing chiefly in their outward signs and tokens, in 
their visible manifestations and eccentricities, Greeley, 
Bennett, and Raymond were eminently so. 

In the hands of these the press of New York sped 
beyond the press of London, which lacks special vigor 
233 



The American Newspaper 

and inspiration, is edited by cultivated subalterns at 
second-hand, and, for all its rotundity and pretended 
composure, is in a perpetual strain after heavy, beef- 
eating effects, deficient at once in naturalness and hu- 
mor. As Fox said of Thurlow, one feels disposed to 
say of the London press, it is not in nature to be as 
wise as it looks to be; albeit, if we are to have vacuity 
and pretence, it is well to have it well-clad and well- 
bred, which elements of respectability form half the 
prestige and all the attraction of this able, dreary, and 
portentous element in journalism. 

It can be said of the American press, on the other 
hand, just as Thackeray and Taine have said of the 
writings of Henry Fielding, that the cloth is none of 
the cleanest, and that the dishes might be better 
chosen; indeed, that the company makes but a small 
show of courtliness and is often vulgar and ill-man- 
nered; but, on the whole, that it has a jovial, happy 
faculty of standing by the weak and resisting the 
strong, of satirizing the wicked, exposing the base, de- 
tecting the false, and cheering the unfortunate, which 
could only come to a press whose roots are nourished 
by a free soil, and whose great boughs, spreading out 
wider and thicker, shelter a free people. 

We have heard a deal of late years about personal 
and impersonal journalism. In the press of America, 
we must needs have an abundance of personal journal- 
ism ; it is an appendage to our condition as well as an 
233 



The Compromises of Life 

offspring of our character. During our civil war, it 
was remarked by foreign officers of experience who had 
come here to observe the progress of military events 
that individual valor not merely counts for more with 
us than with European armies, but is required by our 
soldiery, who keep a close watch on their leaders. 
This is a Republican habit, and, as far as editors are 
concerned, it is rendered the more scrutinizing and in- 
evitable by the comparative smallness of our towns, 
which are not large enough to afford concealment to 
an individual occupying an important local place. 
Those who read a newspaper are pretty sure to find 
out who it is that edits it; there is no possible escape; 
the man's simple comings in and goings out will dis- 
cover him; and just as he happens to be a person of 
exceptional character or characteristics is he likely to 
be marked and talked of, until, being presently very 
well known, and having himself charged with all the 
virtues and all the offences of his journal, he is, invol- 
untarily, a personal journalist. 

If you will but consider it for a moment, you will 
agree with me that James Gordon Bennett was as per- 
sonal in his journalism, throwing as many of his pe- 
culiarities into it, as Horace Greeley; they differed in 
kind and in degree; but both after their fashion were 
known, personally known, and neither could nor de- 
sired to hide himself. 

Even Mr. Greeley's successor, though scarcely warm 
234 



The American Newspaper 

in his seat and an exceptionally young and retiring 
man, is familiarly known by name and countenance to 
the great body of American readers ; and I confess that, 
considering the case from this standpoint, I am unable 
to see how men like Marble, Dana, Bowles, White, 
and Halstead, filling the places they do, could, no mat- 
ter how ardently they might wish it, envelop them- 
selves in the mystery which surrounds the work-a-day 
drudge who forges thunder-bolts for the London 
Times. Nor does this seem to me a thing to be de- 
sired either by the journalist or by his readers. Be- 
coming modesty and self-denial, joined to absolute dis- 
interestedness in the public service, are all that should 
be sought; because the very nature of the journalist's 
vocation obliges him to be a man of action, to be in the 
midst of affairs if not a part of them, to be ready, reso- 
lute, and personally informed — qualities not to be 
found in the recluse or the dummy. 

When I say that the journalist must be a man of 
action, I do not mean that he should seek office. 

The functions of the politician and the journalist 
are totally different. There is a yet stronger reason 
why the success of the journalist in politics must and 
will always be abridged; the journalist who is con- 
scientious and independent cannot be a strict partisan, 
cannot establish a definite partisan claim by undoubt- 
ing party work, and is sure to raise up against himself 
many bitter enemies, who are powerless to injure him 
235 



The Compromises of Life 

in his walk in life, but who are able to thwart him 
when he quits his intrenchments and gives them a 
chance on their own ground. 

There is impersonal journalism in England, because 
the English press is conducted by scholarly dummies, 
who, dwelling in London, to which the press is mainly 
confined, are able to live reclusive lives, and who, be- 
ing for the most part the employees of men who pub- 
lish newspapers as they would traffic in bread-stuffs, 
are not paid enough or permitted to display a costly 
and offensive individuality. In America the power of 
the press is not consolidated in a single great city. All 
the larger towns have their journals and their journal- 
ists; some of them of the richest and most notable. In 
this way journalism with us, as in France, though for 
an opposite reason, opens a road to wealth and fame 
which is closed to the journalist of England, who, from 
necessity and not from choice, we may be sure, leads 
an obscure life and goes to his grave "unwept, unhon- 
ored, and unsung." 

Men of vigorous parts and sound understandings do 
not willingly part with their identity. That is a por- 
tion of the heritage which God has given to mankind, 
our finer part, for it causes us to strive, to labor, to 
aspire, to keep ourselves honorable and clean, to seek 
the good-will and good-report of our fellow-men. 
Personalism is only objectionable when it becomes 
blatant or degenerates into vanity. It is considered, and 
236 



The American Newspaper 

it is a most ennobling and admirable quality, when it 
causes Morton and Schurz to detach themselves from 
the rest in order that they may tell millions of their 
countrymen what they think on this question and on 
that. The journalist does not, in his most personal 
moments, display himself half so much as these, and, 
while he is to be warned against using his great ve- 
hicle to the mere tickling of his own conceit, he is surely 
not to be blamed for going in at the front door, in- 
stead of creeping round by way of the back alley, nor 
stigmatized for holding his head up in the face of 
all the world, non sibi, sed toti genitum se credere 
mundo. 

This principle, fairly construed and carried out, un- 
derlies another, and the most important of the unseen 
forces in journalism — the sense of responsibility. The 
business of conducting newspapers is only just begin- 
ning to be recognized as a profession, like law, engineer- 
ing, or physic ; but it is yet a common, unf enced by es- 
tablished rules and marked by none of those precedents 
which make its fellow-toilers so venerable and so 
revered. It is at once without a jurisprudence and a 
history. 

I have been reading Mr. Hudson's recent book with 
interest and attention, and nothing that it contains has 
struck me with greater force than the general sugges- 
tion which it conveys of what it does not contain; 
some theory of journalistic practice. That must in- 
237 



The Compromises of Life 

deed be a barren field of speculation which furnishes 
so few abstract ideas to a man of such large experience 
as the biographer of the American press. I take it for 
granted that there must have been weighty reasons 
which restrained a life-long journalist, who was the 
executive officer during twenty momentous years of 
the most famous and widely circulated American news- 
paper, from tossing his younger followers a hint or two 
concerning the system whose loose, disjointed story he 
undertook to tell us. I know of one repressing influ- 
ence — it can hardly be called a reason — ^which seals 
the lips of many a practical journalist with respect to 
his craft and his work: a worldly minded, perhaps a 
prudent, well-bred disinclination to sermonize, and a 
wholesome fear of ridicule. He is sufficiently oracular 
when it comes to matters about which he cannot be so 
well advised as about his own calling; he will con- 
strue the law; he will decide a case in railway econ- 
omy; he will be by turns a statesman, a soldier, and a 
diplomatist; he will organize a party and furnish it a 
platform of everlasting and infallible principles; he 
will command an army and Insure it victories in ad- 
vance; he will enter unfamiliar courts and throw 
down the glove to kings and ministers. But when it 
comes to guessing at the truths and falsehoods of his 
daily life, to honestly investigating the mystery of a 
penful of ink, and measuring the length, breadth, and 
thickness of a bit of lead-pencil, to defining the tactics 
238 



The American Newspaper 

of a paragraph, and settling the* strategy of a leading 
article, to carefully, diplomatically weighing the nice- 
ties and balancing the subtleties of news, and casting 
up some general, philosophical result, he sheers off 
and begins to play what wicked and adventurous peo- 
ple call "a close game" — that is to say, he presses the 
cards to his bosom and is mute. 

I suppose all of you know the editor of the Cincin- 
nati Commercial, and that most of you know the edi- 
tor of the Chicago Tribune; you will agree with me 
that an essay on journalism from either would be val- 
uable, because each has illustrated the profession of 
journalism by distinguished successes. But, do you not 
see that the very quality which has made them what 
they are shuts them up like oysters? Schurz calls this 
"indifferentialism." I explain it in this way, that, 
when they came to the front, frivolous garrulity and 
mawkish gush were in the ascendant; they fought 
against pruriency in themselves as well as in their or- 
der, overcoming it, at least, in themselves. With a ro- 
bustuous, self-taught spirit, which was keen and detec- 
tive, flashing upon a sham and lighting up a cheat with 
a peculiar species of new-fashioned, mirthful sincerity, 
truth-seeking and truth-telling, they resolved to main- 
tain in their public intercourse the simple, colloquial 
tone which is common to private expressions of opin- 
ion; and, by practising this self-repression, they, very 
naturally, went to the extreme of it. They erred 
239 



The Compromises of Life 

merely in degree, and in the right direction; but while 
it may be said of them that 

**E'en their frailties lean to virtue's side,*' 

I wish they could be induced to speak out as Medill 
spoke out in this very place a year or two since, and 
as Reid spoke out in New York not so long ago, and 
as I am trying very inadequately to speak out on this 
occasion, toward the establishment of some general, if 
not some special, conception of a system by which we 
not merely get our daily bread, but which I am sure 
the greater number of us are interested in advancing, 
in purifying, in elevating among the professions and in 
the esteem of men. 

With this in mind, I speak of the responsibility 
which presses upon every newspaper conductor; and I 
shall speak confidently and earnestly, because, having 
some taste for investigating the causes of things, and 
having had considerable apprenticeship to the experi- 
mental part of our vocation, I am satisfied that in jour- 
nalism, as in every conceivable sphere of life, the 
foundation of success is Credit. What is it that makes 
you trust your money in a bank? Confidence in its 
management. What is it that makes you rally around 
a favorite party leader? Confidence that he knows 
more of the science of government than you do; that 
he is a better representative of your peculiar notions 
than you are yourself; and that he is to be relied on 
240 



The American Newspaper 

with greater assurance than his competitor. You do 
not wish your banker and your politician to exchange 
their places. The banker might get on but poorly in 
public life, and the politician would, in all likelihood, 
scarcely get on at all as a practical financier. Apply 
this rule of fitness to the press. What is it that the 
people want of a newspaper ? Not so much the science 
of banking and government as the raw material, the 
facts, out of which they may construct a rude, popular 
science, which the scientists themselves must consult. 
They want to feel, first of all, that it is reliable; that 
it is uncontrolled by sordid interests, and unseduced by 
passion and prejudice, which the unexcited heart of our 
better nature secretly tells us are unjust. 

I do not say that racy, reckless writing, be it never 
so wrongful, is unattractive. It certainly pleases our 
worse side; it flatters a combativism more or less com- 
mon to all men. But it cannot hold its own, and never 
has held its own, when brought face to face with up- 
right, painstaking, sensible, and informed writing, sup- 
ported by those ordinary mechanical appliances which 
are indispensable to the commercial success of newspa- 
pers. 

Of course, the axiom of newspaper success Is news. 
The newspaper of to-day Is the history of yesterday. 
As action is said to be to oratory, so is currency to 
journalism. But what sort of news, what sort of cur- 
rency? I answer, trustworthy information, of some 
241 



The Compromises of Life 

use, interest, and import, recent enough to be given to 
the public for the first time; and, if commented upon, 
to be fairly commented upon. I do not believe it to 
be the mission of journalism to fish in the sewers for 
scandal and to loiter up and down the world in quest 
of the forbidden. There are many things not fit to be 
told that may amuse or disgust the public. There 
are many other things the telling of which might bring 
a rogue to his deserts. In cases of this sort what are 
we to do? 

Let us take an example. One of my reporters comes 
in late at night and says, breathlessly, that a promi- 
nent banker has absconded with half a million of dol- 
lars and the wife of a fashionable up-town clergyman. 
I am overjoyed, of course — I mean professionally over- 
joyed — for though this same banker is my neighbor, 
and lives in a much grander house than mine, though 
he refused but yesterday to allow me to overcheck my 
deposit, I entertain no grudge against him. I am 
simply rejoiced that to-morrow's issue of the Courier- 
Journal is to go out with a first-class sensation. It 
comes out accordingly with the startling disclosure that 
Mr. So-and-so has disappeared; that he was last seen 
at the depot in Jeffersonville, with Mrs. So-and-so; 
that there has been a good deal of scandal in religious, 
aristocratic, and banking circles for some time about 
Mr. So-and-so's business habits and his unfortunate in- 
timacy with Mrs. So-and-so; that persons best ac- 
242 



The American Newspaper 

quainted with him have never doubted him to be at 
heart a villain; and, finally, that "at the late hour at 
which we write," his family, being prudently sent away, 
in order to facilitate his diabolical purpose, and his 
cashier not being within reach of our reporters, we 
must defer the full particulars of this horrible and la- 
mentable affair until "our next issue." Well, next day 
comes, and what does it disclose? It discloses, in the 
first place, that our reporter has picked up one of those 
rumors which now and then take complete, though 
happily only brief, possession of the streets. He knew 
that his chief had no love for Mr. So-and-so, and he 
colored and substantiated his story; let us say he be- 
lieved it. The facts are simply that Mr. So-and-so has 
gone to Cincinnati with Mrs. So-and-so, who is his sis- 
ter; and all the rest is false. 

There is a fight or a libel suit. 

You will say at once that this is an extreme case; 
unlikely to occur where ordinary prudence was em- 
ployed; impossible to occur in a well-regulated, dis- 
creetly handled newspaper office. I admit it ; but why ? 
Because of the prominence and influence of the parties 
supposed to be involved. But it is not at all improb- 
able, nay, it is common, where they are less conspicu- 
ous, where they happen to be poor, obscure work- 
people charged with crime, and having scanty means 
of righting themselves. The law presumes a man to 
be innocent until he is proved to be guilty. The press, 
243 



The Compromises of Life 

not merely usurping the functions of the law in ar- 
raigning a man whom the constable has no warrant 
to arrest, goes still further and assumes him, prima 
facie, to be guilty. After many weeks, if the case of 
the accused comes to trial, he is acquitted; the law 
makes him an honest man; but there is the newspaper 
which has condemned him, and cannot, with a dozen 
retractions, erase the impression left and the damage 
done by a single paragraph. 

This tendency to arraign, to accuse, arising out of 
the critical nature of the work set before the journal- 
ist, might be given a better and happier direction if it 
were confined to the laws of evidence and usage which 
prevail in our old, established courts; if it based itself 
on investigation; if it pursued its mission through the 
sunshine and not through the shades of night. Nay, it 
would be a most pleasing, popular element if it should 
be wittily instead of savagely severe. 

One may be shrewd and sound in his judgments 
and still be charitable. Did ever you know a good and 
valuable man who wore an habitual frown and spoke 
constant ill of the world and his fellow-men? Such a 
man may perhaps be honest, but he will not be a bene- 
factor or a leader of his kind. It is never necessary 
to be brutal in order to be vigorous; to pule in order 
to be humane. That is the best courage which does 
not fly into a passion. There is, lurking down in the 
heart of the fiercest partisan, a social yearning, which 
244 



The American Newspaper 

begets the selfish, manly instinct of fair-play. There is 
in every man's nature a natural love of cheerfulness 
and serenity. Observe how humor drove the old, 
highfalutin novel into retirement and made those 
writers of fiction, from Sterne to Dickens, from Gold- 
smith to Bret Harte, most popular who best illus- 
trated it. Observe how humor on the stage, personi- 
fied by Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Sothern, has paled the 
ineffectual fires of tragedy. What is it but our God- 
given better nature, chastened and educated by our 
God-sent modern culture, and the spirit of a beautiful 
and gracious Christianity, which commands and in- 
spires artist work of every sort, be it the work of the 
actor, the painter, the musician, the statesman, the 
jurist, the litterateur, or the editor? 

Five and thirty years ago these ideas would prob- 
ably have been stoutly denied by the most celebrated 
of our journalists, and were certainly contradicted by 
the editorial practice of the period. Curious and com- 
ical period! when Richard Smith wore unbecoming 
roundabouts and William Hyde instituted the black 
art of selling newspapers on the banks of the Ohio; 
when Walter Haldeman kept books for George D. 
Prentice ; when Joseph Medill pulled a press at Cleve- 
land; when M. D. Potter wheelbarrowed the forms 
of his paper through the streets of Cincinnati; when 
Greeley, Raymond, and Bennett were obscure, and the 
press glorified itself in the persons of half a hundred f or- 
245 



The Compromises of Life 

gotten worthies, who wrote fierce nonsense, and fought 
duels, and hickuped Fourth of July orations every day 
of the year in exceeding bad grammar. Journalism in 
those days was a sort of inebrious knight-errantry; a 
big joke, considerably drunken and blood-stained. Now 
and then I turn back to it and contemplate it, and 
whenever I do so I begin to choke up between a laugh 
and a cry ; it was so funny, it was so tragic ! 

In the old time the journalist was a mere player, 
strutting and fretting his hour upon the stage, acting 
a part by command of his liege lord, the party leader. 
He was about as much in earnest in his role of "or- 
ganist" as Mr. Booth is in his role of Richelieu or 
Hamlet; that is, it suited him, and he adapted himself 
to it. He was the politician's squire and the party's 
hack — neglected or rewarded according to the caprice 
of his master. That, in spite of his genius and his per- 
sonality, his independence of spirit and undoubted 
courage, was Prentice. With all his gifts — his wit, 
sagacity, and courage — Prentice lived the life of a slave. 
Realizing the fact always, he only realized the cause 
toward the end. 

I do not say that Horace White may not be a bet- 
ter-trained journalist to-day than Joseph Medill, who 
trained himself from the ground floor and fought up- 
ward against odds and time. I am sure that Murat 
Halstead is an abler editor than his predecessor, who 
was a hero and a man of parts. What I do say, and 
246 



The American Newspaper 

mean to impress upon you, is that when Potter and 
Medill began to evolve the mystery of modern jour- 
nalism out of their inner consciousness, the problem 
was more blank and the future less assured than the 
problem and the future are to you in the work of 
emancipating the press — the country press — from its 
present thraldom; for I should waste the time we 
spend in coming here, and should poorly acquit myself 
of the privilege of speaking out in meeting which you 
have kindly allowed me, if I should let the occasion 
pass with a few glittering generalities touching jour- 
nalism at large, and a pretty phrase or two about our 
greater journalists. The purpose of my coming re- 
lates wholly to that weekly, provincial, to that county 
journalism, which is so largely, so respectably, and so 
intelligently represented here. The greater journals 
take care of themselves. The greater journalists, 
whether they be good or wise, creditable or unworthy, 
are able to make a figure in the world. In any 
event, they are few in number. If journalism ever 
is reformed — if it ever realize the ideal I have been 
sketching in outline — its reformation must embrace 
the country press and enter into the homespun no less 
than the imported fabric of the profession. 

I have thrown out, generally, the principles of con- 
duct and the arts of enterprise which have given birth 
to the Independent Press, that is, to the self-sustain- 
ing, non-partisan press — to that press which is sought 
247 



The Compromises of Life 

to be run in the public interest, which affects not to 
be purchased or intimidated, which pretends to be con- 
trolled by its legitimate owners and not by a clique 
or ring of politicians, which looks for its support ex- 
clusively to the people, which relies solely on public 
opinion for its good-will just as it relies on events, and 
its representative character as a popular interpreter and 
mouth-piece, for its vindication. If you will consider 
these arts and these principles carefully, if you will 
separate them minutely from their abstract setting and 
apply them to the every-day conditions that surround 
your life and labor, you will find them not merely 
adaptable, but comprehensive and infallible. 

There are in this State of Indiana, living in vil- 
lages, and passing comparatively obscure lives, pro- 
fessional men of real eminence and learning — lawyers 
and doctors who, transplanted to a larger field, would 
make a figure in the world. Twelve or fourteen years 
ago there was a young student at Terre Haute, un- 
honored and unknown, who rose to national distinc- 
tion, still keeping his beautiful but out-of-the-way 
dwelling-place. Occupying no great official place, he 
signalized his genius as a pleader and politician all over 
the country; and now, though defeated and gone into 
retirement, he is perhaps stronger than ever he was, 
with a better future. Five and twenty years ago, at 
South Bend, another equally obscure young man be- 
gan a career which was peculiarly distinguished and 
248 



The American Newspaper 

brilliant, carrying him from the office of a county 
newspaper into the National Congress, to the head of 
this, and finally up to the second place within the gift 
of the American people. Voorhees and Colfax were 
both village men; their lot was cast in an interior 
State; yet each of them carved out of fortune a place 
for himself. Both became national influences. Turn 
away to New England : take note of the trim little city 
of Springfield, in Massachusetts — merely a large vil- 
lage. You will find there a newspaper more praised, 
abused, and quoted than any other newspaper in 
America. Sam Bowles has simply done, in his way, 
what Dan Voorhees and Schuyler Colfax did in their 
way — that is, being a man of genius, as they are, he 
adapted himself to his situation in life. He made the 
best of himself by doing faithful, conscientious work in 
the sphere wherein his lot was cast. The same is open 
to every man; only the county journalist has a better, 
because an almost untilled, field for the planting and 
reaping of a plentiful harvest. 

My friends, you are, I take it, intelligent, candid 
men, and you will not think the less of me if, stand- 
ing before you as your guest and feeling myself hon- 
ored by your notice, I speak plainly of some matters 
about which we are not all agreed. You will admit 
in your personal intercourse a hundred errors and 
abuses of your system, and then, without making an 
effort at emancipation, go off and submit to them. I 
249 



The Compromises of Life 

propose to enumerate some of these, for I have not 
the time, nor have you, or any audience, the patience to 
go through the long, black-letter list of dead-head nui- 
sances which keep the county press In a state of con- 
tempt and bondage. 

First of all comes, of course, the dead-head system, 
wrhlch Is the parent of the dead-beat system; free 
passes, free tickets, and free postage. You will all ap- 
plaud the sentiment that It Is best to pay as we go, and 
there Is not one of you but believes In the man who 
asks favors of nobody; who Is the slave of nobody; 
who minds his own business, relies on himself, and 
lives as such a man Is like to live, an upright, indus- 
trious, and decent life. How can a man realize this 
character who submits to the tacit corruption and 
quasi indignity of a free ride over a railroad, which 
gives It In order that It may be able to command his 
silence or his support; or a free admission Into a thea- 
tre, which is meant to secure an unfaithful, compli- 
mentary notice of the performance next morning; or 
free transit through the malls, which Is obtained by a 
collusion with local politicians and court-house rings, 
which are too often interested in newspaper publica- 
tions? You will say, in answer to this, "it Is very 
well to talk so ; you can afford to pay your way as you 
go; your paper will be only too glad to suspend the 
free list, because It Is prosperous and rich, and to es- 
tablish postal prepayment, because It will break down 
250 



The American Newspaper 

the country press and open the way for the extension 
of your weekly edition." I believe nothing of the 
kind ; if I did I should not venture upon a distasteful 
topic on an occasion like this. I stand for the honor 
of my cloth; and be this cut in a village or measured 
out over a great metropolis, it is still my cloth, and I 
am equally zealous in its service. 

The dead-head system, the dead-beat system, li- 
censed and encouraged by the system of subsidies and 
favors allowed the press and tolerated by journalists, 
keeps the local newspaper in a hopeless, poverty- 
stricken way, where the independent system, relying 
for its success upon the same general law of public 
needs — of supply and demand — ^which regulates other 
commodities, would place it at least upon a level with 
the successful cultivation of other reputable, neigh- 
borly pursuits. A man goes into a certain line of 
business. Why? Because he likes it and thinks he is 
suited to it. He wants to control his own business, 
and be master of himself, of course. If he has been 
correct in his preference, and is capable and indus- 
trious, he gets on. This rule of life does not vary its 
terms in journalism. What is the secret of capacity 
in journalism outside of that intuitive mystery of in- 
terpretation which passes for genius? It is the same 
old-fashioned, well-known secret which the world has 
been studying, and which philosophers and econo- 
mists have been blabbing, and which successful men 
251 



The Compromises of Life 

have been quietly practising, since the beginning of time 
— fair-dealing and open-sailing; self-reliance; cheer- 
fulness, common-sense, and candor, the foundation- 
stones of diplomacy, of finance, of science, of com- 
merce, of all useful arts and strategy. Wherever these 
elements have been thrown into journalism they have 
produced the same familiar effects, great or small, as 
the case might be, but absolutely specific and sure. 
There Is not a man here to-day, who is fit for an edi- 
tor, who would not be a better editor, a stronger and 
more prosperous editor. If he should say to himself: 
I will, whatever comes of it, be a perfectly Independent 
and Impartial editor; I will let the politicians mind 
their business, and I will mind my business; I will tell 
the truth as I am able to conceive it, setting down 
naught In malice; I will put the best work that is in 
me on my paper; I will collect the news Industriously; 
I will express my opinions fearlessly but responsibly; 
I will accept no Indulgences not given my neighbors; 
I will not be slapped on the back, nor be sneered at 
as a sort of Cheap John, a public pensioner, who lives 
partly by his wits, partly by the offal thrown out by 
the yard-dogs who congregate about the court-house, 
and partly by the insolent benefices of railroads and 
the absurd cajolery of side-shows, which could not 
merely be kept in a state of perpetual obeisance and re- 
spect, but could be turned into a source of legitimate 
revenue by the application of a strict commercial foot- 
252 



The American Newspaper 

rule. Every man wants to be independent. Every 
man wants to be respected. The road to independence 
and dignity for the journalist is plain and open; it is, 
in the first place, suitability and capacity; in the next 
place, disinterestedness and courage without obstinacy 
or vainglorious self-assertion. Finally, say nothing 
about a man in print you would not say to him face 
to face. 

The exchange system, with the free list, ought to 
be abolished. It is at once unequal and irregular as 
well as expensive; simply a costly luxury. The paper 
that cannot live except on favor and charity ought to 
die. There ought to be one fixed, undeviating scale 
of advertising prices, inexorable to the advertising 
agent and the home advertiser; reasonable on its face 
and not to be altered. Every practical newspaper man 
knows what wretched abuses exist in our entire adver- 
tising system; how we allow ourselves to be imposed 
on by our fancied necessities, and how, in turn, we im- 
pose upon others. Mr. A. T. Stewart once told me 
that his success in the dry-goods line consisted in sell- 
ing the best quality of goods at a specified price, rely- 
ing solely on the public interest to find out the posi- 
tive value of the goods and not trying to deceive it, 
knowing very well, as he added, that it is shrewd, 
selfish, and sordid, not to be deceived in the long run, 
and sure to find out that which is cheapest and best. 
It is simply the rule of that positive philosophy, which 
assures us that we are known better than we know 
253 



The Compromises of Life 

ourselves; that facts, not fictions, rule; that it is well 
to make a clean breast of it in all our public deal- 
ings, producing such wares as we have and looking to 
the public to take them only as they are sound, useful, 
and wanted. People do not advertise with us because 
they love us. They insert an advertisement in a news- 
paper as they hang a sign in a street, to be seen, and 
just as they seek a thoroughfare for this sign, so they 
seek the largest number of readers for their advertise- 
ment. It is purely a matter of interest, and, except as 
a matter of interest, is not to be relied on. There 
should be some fixed rule in every business. In the 
advertising business there is none. There is indeed a 
scale of prices, which, outside of the larger cities, is 
rarely adhered to; and, as advertisers feel that they 
hold the whip, they do not fail to use it. 

I might go on endlessly with the many incidents 
which belong to this matter of newspaper independence 
and are inevitably suggested by it. You will not 
charge me with presumption, I hope, because I have 
sketched the character of a journalism which I do not 
pretend to realize in my own practices, earnestly as I 
am wedded to the theories in which it is constructed, 
and thoroughly as I believe it to be the journalism of 
the future. I have had some opportunities to test the 
efficacy and value of many of the hints which I have 
been throwing out here, in time of peace and in time 
of war, and it Is my unqualified opinion that, wielded 
254 



The American Newspaper 

with prudence, justice, and truthfulness, having the 
right on its side, and being handled with ordinary com- 
posure and skill, the press is, as the old saying puts it, 
"mightier than the sword." But to be mighty it must 
be free, and to be free it must be self-sustaining and 
self-respecting. 

There is a great fight before us for liberty; a fight 
as old as the hills. The fight of the poor against the 
rich ; the fight of the weak against the strong ; the fight 
of the people against the corporations. The corpora- 
tions just now hold the vantage ground. They began 
by corrupting the newspapers; and they have gone so 
fast and so far that they are able at last to buy up 
Legislatures, to command the services of capable and 
astute politicians, and even to shape the course of 
parties. The people are becoming aroused, and, being 
aroused, they look around them for weapons of de- 
fence. Thus seeking the means of war, they have 
taken hold of the press as the most warlike enginery 
within their reach, and, if it be true that the press con- 
trols the country, it is because the people, controlling 
the press, engage it in their interest, supporting it with 
the reserve power of public opinion. The silly old no- 
tion of "writing down to the people" is exploded. The 
effort now is to write and act up to the people ; for the 
people, in the aggregate, are wiser and purer than any 
one man, even though that one man should be the edi- 
tor of a newspaper. 

255 



The Compromises of Life 

To-morrow morning the people of Indiana, issuing 
out of a half-million of farm-houses and cottages, mov- 
ing about mill-wheels and ploughshares, bustling in 
shops, and bathing themselves healthfully in the benign 
May air that, pouring its fragrant flood down from the 
lakes and over the prairies, bids a good-day and God- 
speed alike to the grain in the earth and the men and 
women and the flowers above it — to-morrow morn- 
ing the people of Indiana, who make their bread by 
the sweat of their brow, and who get their school- 
ing the same way, rising out of toil-worn but com- 
fortable beds, at once sound-minded and whole-hearted, 
wanting to do the right thing in the right manner, 
and perfectly unexcited — will have, if they are to have 
their own way, just as little chaff, gush, and gam- 
mon in their favorite newspaper as possible. To be 
sure, if they can get nothing better, they will take 
this, provided it happens to agree with certain senti- 
mental conceits, which go by the name of ''principles," 
and which mean the latest party platform, always more 
or less rickety and changeable. But they prefer that 
which, being founded in genuine conviction, is not 
bound to any particular circle of individuals, enjoying 
office or the hope of office and calling itself a party; 
they prefer that which is to be relied on absolutely as 
original truth. 

I make no plea for that sort of independent journal- 
ism which represents the caprices of a single editor and 
256 



The American Newspaper 

piques itself on its immunity from obligations of every 
sort. I know very well that parties are essential to 
republics, and that organization is essential to parties. 
I am myself a fairly good party man, but I am not so 
good a party man as to accept the theory that politics is 
war ; that a partisan line, like the military line of battle, 
should divide me from my neighbors who differ from 
me in points of fact or in the construction which we 
mutually place upon civil questions, and which requires 
me to tell lies, bear malice, and be guilty of all un- 
charitableness in order that one set of gentlemen shall 
hold office and another set be kept out of office. 

I say, and in using the first person singular I mean to 
be understood as speaking for every editor who is satis- 
fied with his calling, that I want no office ; that I have 
a better office already than I can hope to get if I do my 
duty; and that, therefore, fairly representing the ideas 
which group themselves from natural causes about a 
certain point in our political field of action, I stand for 
them in their truths and not in their falsehoods ; I stand 
for them as they are just, and not as they are merely 
selfish, strategic, or extreme, running into bombast, 
and too often seeking to conceal and justify their errors 
by increased wantonness and wrong. I believe I stand 
where the people, who give me all I have and who make 
me all I am, would have me stand, as a journalist, for, 
in the long run, the people are pretty sure to find out 
whether a newspaper is whimsical and eccentric, simply 
257 



The Compromises of Life 

pretentious and Individualized, or whether, guided by 
modesty and inspired by sincerity, it is a mouth-piece 
of that yearning for public honesty, good-nature, and 
fair-play, which are characteristic of our laughter-lov- 
ing, brave-hearted Americanism. 

Pray do not think I am striking too high. These 
are but simple and easy lessons in human nature, the 
source and resource, the buttress, and the bell-tower of 
journalism and a free press. They are attainable by 
the smallest journalist of the smallest village, and not 
until they are learned, and well learned, by the lesser 
journalists of the country, can we hope for that journal- 
ism which, ideal now, is destined to win the fight of the 
people against the great aggregation of capital ; to sub- 
stitute a national and popular spirit against mere dema- 
goglsm and party spirit; and, if such be God's provi- 
dence, to establish that universal republic which, based 
on difiEused intelligence, is to bring us peace on earth 
and good-will among men. Emancipate the press from 
its thraldom to mammon by making it self-sustaining! 
Bind it with hooks of steel to the service of the people ! 
Acknowledge no master except that of which you your- 
selves are component parts — a board of which you are 
members — a cabinet of which you are ministers — the 
mastership of public opinion. It is the only service that 
gives plenty of pay and honest pay ; it is the only service 
of which a man may be proud and in which he may feel 
happy. Throw off the old execrable badge, faded and 
258 



The American Newspaper 

tattered and worm-eaten by its dishonoring memories 
and inscriptions, for that other badge, that insignia of 
rank and power, which says: *'I am no man's slave. I 
am a man among men. The roof above me is my own. 
This threshold is mine ; and, holding no commission but 
that which, sent from Heaven, makes me a spokesman 
for my fellow-men, and having no weapons except a 
handful of types, I am able to defy the world that pro- 
poses, unbidden, to cross it, because I am supported by 
an invincible army, ready to rally at a moment's notice 
for the defence of itself, which is my defence." I be- 
lieve in that sort of journalism, and I believe that that 
sort of journalism will come to be believed in by every 
man who edits and reads a newspaper. 



259 



A PLEA FOR PROVINCIALISM* 

The present year marks the hundredth anniversary of 
the settlement of Kentucky. In the spring of 1774 the 
town of Harrodsburg, which is conceded the birthright 
honor of seniority over its neighbors, was laid out by a 
company of pioneers from Virginia. A year later grain 
was growing among the cane-brakes. 

There used to be a tradition that, at least five years 
before the arrival of the Harrods and the McAfees, a 
person by the name of Boone, from the Yadkin River, in 
North Carolina, made his way to the spot where we are 
now assembled; whereat, in times gone by, the good 
people hereabout took a certain pride and credit to them- 
selves as possessors of the soil from which the patri- 
archal ladder of promise and hope, ascending to Heaven 
in the hunter's dream, had proved to be a real passway 
for the manifold blessings and mercies showered upon 
them by the God of their fathers. Certain it is that 
Boone did make two separate incursions prior to the es- 
tablishment of a fixed colony. "It was on May i, 
1769," he tells us, "that I resigned my domestic happi- 
ness and left my family and peaceful habitation on the 

•Georgetown College, Kentucky, 1874. 
260 



A Plea for Provincialism 

Yadkin River, in North Carolina, to wander through 
the wilderness of America in quest of the country of 
Kentucke." He came afoot, and was followed by a 
little troop of heroes and poets like himself. 

I say heroes and poets, for they were stirred by the 
fine frenzy of true poetry and the adventurous daring of 
true heroism set upon an enterprise which brought forth 
an epic. Nature herself seemed conscious of the com- 
ing of an important embassy, and put on her richest 
apparel to receive it. The pomp of all the heraldries 
in the world could not have furnished out a splendider 
fete than that which waited these humble ministers and 
envoys in buckskin. It was when the June skies were 
softest and the June fruition was at its full ; when the 
elm and the maple vied with one another which should 
show itself the more hospitable and magnificent; when 
the welcoming bluebird call was clearest and sweetest, 
that the mysterious pathway through the forest which 
had opened day after day, not like the fabled avenue in 
the enchanted garden, but like the track pointed out to 
Christian by divine inspiration, brought the little band 
to an elevation from which its members beheld, for the 
first time, the land they had come so far to see. Moses, 
stretching his weary eyes from Pisgah into Canaan, was 
not gladdened and refreshed by a lovelier prospect. It 
was, Boone declares in his autobiography, "a second 
paradise." A new world dawned upon him, a world in 
which nature revealed herself in perpetual surprises, a 
261 



The Compromises of Life 

world throughout whose dells, meadows, and streams, 
disturbed only by the bear, the panther, and the wolf, 
giving a weird, habitable grandeur to the solitudes con- 
genial to the heroic spirit, he might vindicate the poet's 
lines, actually finding — 

** Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.** 

It is apart from the purpose of the answer I have to 
make to the invitation with which you have honored me 
to pursue the story of the adventures that ensued, 
though they rival the deeds of Perseus and are not sur- 
passed in legendary glory by the achievements of the 
mythical knights who followed the fortunes of Arthur 
and the Table Round. Nor shall I attempt to sketch, 
however briefly, the career of the commonwealth which 
thence sprang into existence, producing a succession of 
famous statesmen and soldiers, and, during three-quar- 
ters of a century, holding a place alongside of Virginia 
and Massachusetts in the household circle of States. I 
wish to speak to you, the youthful descendants of this 
most illustrious line, of the present rather than of the 
past. I ask you to look about you, to note the reduced 
rank into which Kentucky has fallen, to compare her in 
all aspects with other of the great and growing States 
of the country, and, if you reach the conclusion that 
there has been a decline from the old high point occupied 
by the State, to inquire the cause, and, having divined it, 
262 



A Plea for Provincialism 

to consider the important question how you shall regain 
possession of the mantles of your forefathers, fit them to 
the times in which you live, and wear them, as they 
wore them, proudly among your fellow-men. 

There are periods especially favorable to self-inspec- 
tion. This, the centenary of the laying of the comer- 
stones at Harrodsburg, is one of them, and it is the more 
in season since it comes to us when the whole world is 
full of movement. Ancient things are vanishing away. 
The fabric of the past is everywhere undergoing repairs. 
We must e'en move with the rest. But, in putting our 
house in order, I would not have you believe it necessary 
to disturb its foundations, to alter its architectural de- 
sign, or even to change its furniture. You may, indeed, 
find it well to remove a deal of rubbish which has some- 
how accumulated; but it was not put there, nor in- 
tended to be there at the first. The original plan does 
not leave us so much as a gable to remodel. The gim- 
crackery of modern invention has produced nothing half 
so worthy of preservation and respect as the old-fash- 
ioned solidarities of government, morals, and manners 
bequeathed us by the gentlemen of the backwoods, who 
wore with equal manliness and grace the knee-breeches 
of civilization and the hunting-shirt of the frontier. It 
is by restoring the spirit of those days, and adapting its 
high purposes and simple methods to contemporaneous 
uses, that we shall rise above the wretched dead-level 
which seems to content us. 

263 



The Compromises of Life 

There are those who, puffed up by their own conceit, 
never weary of descanting upon the progress of enlight- 
enment. In truth, if material development is to be re- 
garded as the sole test of civilization, one cannot deny 
that the railroad has an advantage over the mail-coach 
and that the telegraph is a somewhat swifter agent of 
communication than the pony-post. Splendid cities 
have risen out of the wilderness. Great public institu- 
tions have come into being — here serving the calls of 
philanthropy and there answering the convenience of 
trade. Art galleries and museums, hotels and sleeping- 
cars, theatres and club-houses, books, newspapers, and 
periodicals contribute to our edification and comfort. 
Assuredly it would be affectation in any man to quarrel 
with novelties like these. But it is neither ungrateful 
nor irrelevant to contrast the material well-being which 
they denote with the moral, intellectual, and physical 
conditions of the age, and to inquire whether they have 
not been reached after some abatement of the standards 
applied by a more exacting, but at the same time a more 
God-fearing, man-loving epoch. Have we not pur- 
chased a diffusion of intelligence at the cost of thorough 
and special culture, and are we not warned by the his- 
tory of the world that, unless the moral stature of a 
people advance with the acquisition of wealth, and what 
is called polite refinement, a descent in real manhood 
will be experienced, and that in spite of all the arts of 
all the masters? 

264 



A Plea for Provincialism 

I am certainly not going to make an argument against 
pictures, against books, against railroads, telegraphs, 
street-cars, sleeping-coaches, hotels, newspapers, and 
places of elegant amusement. Plausible as such an 
argument might be made and enriched by multiplied 
illustrations, it would still fall flat before the material 
interests of the time, and the prejudices founded on 
those material interests. Futile the abstraction that 
does not propose to compass some prevailing, substantial, 
or fancied need ! Nor do I believe in the doctrine of re- 
nunciation in any worldly sense. It is by no means 
essential to good morals, to good opinions, to good man- 
ners, that we discard the pleasures and advantages se- 
cured for us by the toil of our forefathers and enter 
upon a self-chastising course of sackcloth and ashes in 
order to revive a lively sense of their virtues. They cut 
their way through primeval forests. Without the aid 
of steam or electricity, they overcame all obstacles, cre- 
ating an empire unsurpassed and erecting upon it a sys- 
tem matchless in all its parts, adequate to every noble 
aspiration, a watchword for freemen everywhere and 
the glory of its authors forever. They committed this 
to us. What have we done with it? What are we 
doing with it? 

It seems to me, my young friends, that we may be 

likened, not inaptly, to the children of a rich and noble 

sire, who, dying after a long and honorable career, has 

left each of us a fortune. The need to work, as he 

)265 



The Compromises of Life 

worked, fs not pressed upon us. We have picked up a 
little flippancy, which he was too busy to acquire, and, 
thinking ourselves highly accomplished, we take our 
store out into the world to display it in our own con- 
ceit. We fancy it enough to label it "Kentucky." 
Pleased with ourselves and our label, we press forward, 
like Orlando in the romance, seeking pleasures and ad- 
ventures. To be sure, contact with the world, travel 
and experience, suggest new ideas to us ; but these new 
ideas are not always good and useful. We grow lux- 
urious ; we must dress better ; we must move faster ; we 
must be comfortable while we move ; in short, we must, 
as the comic song puts it, 

'Keep up with the times and the fash-i-on.*' 

One need begets another, one taste creates another, 
until, lo, the giddy spendthrift at length appears as a 
cosmopolitan, with flashy devices for putting the meta- 
phorical Mansard roof of the gay world upon every ob- 
ject, domestic and social, that meets his eye. He is 
ashamed of the simple old home ways. The hearty grace 
and natural ease of his father, who was a gentleman of 
the rough-and-ready school, are replaced by the exceed- 
ing short-horn polish imparted by the dancing-master 
and the tailor. His very talk is changed. Instead of 
the plain language taught him by his mother, racy of the 
soil, full of honest Saxon words, and homely sense and 
wit — the vestal fire of our English tongue — he is fond of 
266 



A Plea for Provincialism 

foreign references and cadences ; and when he wants to 
be particularly genteel he drawls and stammers like a 
cockney. As a matter of course, he parts his hair in the 
middle. Neither the clothes, the food, the drink, the 
recreations of his childhood content him. He is not 
warmed by the scenes nor inspired by the memories of 
the past. Even the achievements of his father, except 
as they contribute to his vanity, have ceased to interest 
him. He is proud only of his riches and acquirements; 
not the acquirements of the scholar and the hero, bring- 
ing honor to the State, but of the voluptuary, whose 
chief aim is to imitate the fribbles by whom he has been 
dazzled. He would, in a word, throw aside the robust 
commonplaces of his native land, healthful and simple, 
for the wearying follies of other lands — all the while 
consulting his selfish inclinations, and never once stop- 
ping to ask himself how his indolence is going to affect 
the label, the trade-mark on which he relies and which 
he neglects. The last thing that disturbs him is — Ken- 
tucky. It is become old-fogyish to talk about the com- 
monwealth, 

"The old three-cornered hat. 
And the breeches and all that. 
Are so queer.*' 

Do I draw upon my imagination for my example? 
Will any of you pretend to set up the Kentucky of to- 
day against the Kentucky of yesterday ? Take up a list 
267 



The Compromises of Life 

of the great Kentuckians who flourished together during 
fifty years; take down the volumes that record their 
lives; consider them, intellectually and physically. 
Where is your Clay, who, as his old friend, Aris 
Throckmorton, described him — whether before the 
American people, or the American Senate, or the courts 
of Europe — "was always captain"? the man whose 
frown could awe a party and whose smile could win an 
enemy ; the untaught statesman, diplomatist, and orator, 
who could go out from *'the country of Kentucke," and 
hold his own with Talleyrand and Metternich, the peer 
of Gallatin and Adams — where is your Clay? Where 
is your Crittenden, the Bayard among party leaders, 
who, during fifty years, made the name of Kentucky 
ring throughout the Union — where is your Crittenden ? 
Where are your Rowans and your Trimbles at the bar ; 
your Marshalls, your Hardins, and your Letchers on 
the stump ; your Menifees and your Moreheads in Con- 
gress? Where are your Wickliffes and your Wards, 
the beau-ideal of the private gentleman, to say nothing 
of your warriors, from Dick Johnson and the Shelbys 
to Albert Sidney Johnston, all giants and heroes in the 
most literal sense — where are they ? The line is almost 
measureless, bristling with such names, each a name of 
national significance, as James Guthrie and Linn Boyd 
and Archibald Dixon. Which of you will offer your- 
self against any one of them? I have seen, I have 
known many of them, and I say to you with entire 
268 



A Plea for Provincialism 

seriousness that they did in reality, and not merely in 
the imagination of their day, justify the romantic esti- 
mation in which they were held. You may consider it 
somewhat beyond the limit set upon a discourse of this 
kind to speak of the living, but, in carrying out my con- 
trast, I cannot deny myself two or three illustrative ex- 
amples which sustain the charge that the present genera- 
tion of Kentuckians is relapsing into a state of mediocre 
indifferentiality and a relaxation of that provincial pride 
which lay at the bottom of the supremacy once enjoyed 
by the commonwealth. There are four living Ken- 
tuckians who represent the old school, the soldierly and 
gentleman-like school I have been speaking of at its best, 
four living Kentuckians, who, no matter where you 
place them — in the Senate, at home, or in the courts of 
foreign lands — ^will rank high. I mean John C. Breck- 
inridge, William Preston, Joseph R. Underwood, and 
William O. Butler. The two latter, though octoge- 
narians, are magnificent examples of the glory of the 
past; the two former, though still in the prime of life, 
are unemployed in the public service. I shall make no 
comment upon the circumstance beyond this reflection 
— suppose Kentucky had that quartette in the field to- 
day? Cynical people will answer, "Well, suppose she 
had?" I tell you, however, we have nobody to match 
them, nobody in the splendid manhood by which 
each is signalized as by a patent of nobility, and 
by splendid abilities and culture which you cannot 
269 



The Compromises of Life 

duplicate — seek as you will from one end of the State 
to the other. 

I do not mean to discredit the pretensions of the am- 
bitious young men of our own time; but I ask you to 
look at Kentucky abroad and find a native Kentuckian, 
unless it be the newly made Secretary of the Treasury, 
occupying national position and influence. The same 
decline is visible in Massachusetts and Virginia, Ken- 
tucky's sisters in the old race of hero-statesmen. The 
newer States have all the great guns now, realizing the 
scriptural adage that the last shall be first. 

There is a reason for this, and I think I can put you 
on the trail of it. It is a result of a heaven-defying 
modern impiousness, which scorns the old, slow, and 
homely methods, in a vain and wicked effort to formu- 
larize society under certain universally recognized con- 
ventional limitations. It is the application to the social 
system of the centralization theory so dear to that class 
of political charlatans who would square the whole 
world by a specific foot-rule, heedless alike of character- 
istics and conditions. 

The provincial spirit, which is dismissed from polite 
society in a half-sneering, half-condemnatory way, is 
really one of the forces in human achievement. As a 
man loses his provincialism he loses, in part, his origi- 
nality, and, in this way, so much of his power as proceeds 
from his originality. The same may be said of nations. 
Cosmopolitanism in ideas, in dress, in manners, is merely 
270 



A Plea for Provincialism 

an imitation of that which is not our own, and is usually 
obtained at the expense of that which is inherently 
picturesque and strong. It seems that there must be a 
focus to everything mechanical and natural ; and, as the 
most artificial of contrivances is society, the gay French 
capital has come to be, by a sort of common consent, the 
social focus of the world. So Paris gives the fashion to 
many things besides dress. It is the seat of the most ac- 
cepted cosmopolitanism. Excepting the achievements of 
its milliners and cooks, however, what glorious concep- 
tions can we trace to Paris ? As a theatre of action, it is 
certainly the arena of great exploits. But when we seek 
for the pure and noble things of earth, we do not go to 
Paris ; we go to regions which have not been refined out 
of all naturalness and force. The truth is, the Parisian, 
for all his boasting, is not a cosmopolitan. Among men 
he is least adaptable. Remove him from his beloved 
boulevards, and he is lost. He begins to wither. He is 
but a provincial — his provincialism being of the feebler 
sort, exercising its originality on bonnets and pates. The 
English are the most provincial people in the world, and 
the most achieving; and their provincialism is of great 
profit to themselves, at once burly and offensive. The 
German, as he grows stronger, grows more provincial. 
There was a time when Massachusetts, Virginia, and 
Kentucky led all the States, each possessed of a provin- 
cialism peculiarly its own, full of quaint points and odd 
conceits, characteristic of ardor, self-esteem, and indi- 
271 



The Compromises of Life 

vidual effort. This domestic spirit, this parent of the 
home-rule idea in government, when highly developed 
and well-taught, brings men out to their fullest, and is 
the spring not of national divisions but of national unity. 

Take the example furnished by Virginia, where it was 
the source and resource of the popular thought and 
culture during more than a hundred years. There was 
never a community so permeated by national ideas. It 
was Virginia, more than all the other States combined, 
that brought round the ratification of the American 
Constitution. It was Virginia that furnished the ablest 
statesmen of the constitutional epoch. It was Virginia, 
among the States of the South, that clung most tena- 
ciously to the Union. It was Virginia that, desolated 
by armies and tempted by necessity, never swerved a 
hair's line from the path of duty and honor she had 
marked out for herself, passing through the dreadful 
ordeal of war faithful and temperate and courageous to 
the last. It was Virginia that murmured least and suf- 
fered most; Virginia which, stripped and crippled as 
she is, stands to-day before the country a monument of 
all that is heroic in man. Our venerable mother ! shall 
we not honor her and be proud of her? Yet but a 
province, with provincial peculiarities, why should she 
have so carried herself ? I answer, because of the home 
spirit, the provincial spirit, communicated orally and by 
example from generation to generation. 

The same spirit has done much for Kentucky, and I 
272 



A Plea for Provincialism 

would keep It from dying out. I would cherish It. I 
would urge, Indeed, that It be supported by the special 
culture belonging to the age In which we live ; but never 
forgotten nor abandoned. Let each one of you Improve 
himself as he may; let him study, travel, aspire; but, 
whatever he reads, wherever he goes, and however he Is 
moved, let him feel to his uttermost *'I am a provincial. 
What Is life to me If I gain the whole world and lose 
my province. A fairer land there Is not. A nobler 
race of men and women lives not. It Is all In all to 
me, and to be a part of It, to reflect some credit on It, to 
transmit Its features to my children, that Is the object of 
my striving, and I know no higher ambition." If It be 
said to me that this sets but a barnyard horizon upon 
the young man's highway, I have to answer that It will 
stunt no man's growth. It Is not necessary to go far to 
rise high. The man never did rise high who was not, 
from youth to age, warmed by the inspirations of his 
home, the soul-stirring memories of the roof-tree, and 
the fireside. 

"Take the bright shell 

From Its home on the lea, 
And wherever It goes 

It will sing of the sea; 
So take the fond heart 

From Its home by the hearth, 
It will sing of the loved ones 

To the end of the earth." 

Be sure of this, that great achievements spring from 
273 



The Compromises of Life 

noble impulses, and that the soul of these has in all time, 
at the first and at the last, refreshed itself at the pure 
fountains by the side of which it caught its earliest 
glimpses of the beautiful and the great. The greatest 
hearts are ever the fondest and the simplest, and those 
who have striven humbly, working in a narrow circle, 
have usually produced the grandest results. 

"We figure to ourselves 
The thing we like, and then we build it up, 
As chance will have it on the rock or sand. 
For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, 
And home-bound fancy runs her bark ashore." 

I did not come here, my friends, to deliver what is 
called "an oration." I came to talk to you of Ken- 
tucky, as a Kentuckian; for, though I was not born 
within the geographic lines which embrace what old 
Daniel Boone called "the country of Kentucke," it is 
the land of my forefathers, as of yours, made sacred to 
my heart by more green mounds than I have living 
kindred. I look back over the hundred years closed in 
by this year, and, seeing in my mind's eye the figure of 
a certain Grandfather Whitehead, who, long after the 
allotted threescore and ten, could fetch down his squir- 
rel with his rifle, I thrill anew with the story which he 
told me of the early settlers, and their progeny, who 
made the province glorious and great. I see the cane- 
brake and the block-house. I hear the ring of the rifle 
and the axe. I smell the rose above the mould. Then, 
274 



A Plea for Provincialism 

looking around about me, I see — ^pardon me if I say it — 
I see the people no longer proud within themselves — 
though vain of what they possess — nor eager to salute 
and rally to their representative men. I see a miserable 
cosmopolitan frivolity stealing over the strong, simple 
ruralism of the by-gone time. I see native worth ig- 
nored, and pretence set up everywhere — just as it is out- 
side. I smell the mould above the rose. I go to sleep, 
and I dream of something else — I behold, in the gor- 
geous vision which comes to me :n sleep, a Kentucky, 
realizing the ecstasy of Boone, "a second paradise" — a 
Kentucky populous and rich, but still Kentucky ; the old 
spirit unabated, the old signals at the fore ; a Kentucky 
as fruitful and peaceful and provincial as Warwickshire, 
which, though it has multiplied its inhabitants many 
times over since Shakespeare died, is to-day as rural, as 
picturesque, as antique, odd, and attractive as it was 
when he wandered along the banks of its Avon to see 
Queen Bess and take notes of court life amid the splen- 
dors of Kenilworth Castle; a Kentucky filled with 
genuine Kentucky stock, a stalwart and courteous man- 
hood, a chaste and womanly womanhood, hospitable, 
sincere, and brave. I say I dream of this ; but I should 
add that I am a believer in dreams. 



275 



THE NATION'S DEAD* 

I should not have ventured to come here to-day — 
I should not trust myself to speak in this place — 
if I were conscious of any sectional rr partisan feel- 
ing that may not do honor to a citizen of the United 
States. It would be an affectation in me if I should 
ignore the exceptional circumstance of my coming, 
or fail to be guided in the discharge of the duty 
you have assigned me by a recognition of that circum- 
stance. Herein, it has seemed to me, lies all that is 
good or fit in the occasion which brings us together. 
"On the library wall of one of the most famous writ- 
ers of America" — I use the words of one of the most 
famous writers of England — "there hang two crossed 
swords which his relatives wore in the great war of 
independence; the one sword was gallantly drawn in 
the service of the king, the other was the weapon of 
a brave and honored republican soldier." The oppor- 
tunity has been given us to cross in the everlasting 
peace of death swords that were crossed in the death- 
struggle, proud of the undoubting spirit which carried 

♦National Cemetery, Nashville, Tenn., Decoration Day, 1877, 
276 



The Nation's Dead 

them in life; proud of the fortitude and courage which 
sustained them to the end; proud still, though sorrow- 
ful, over the tragedy which caused them to flash the 
prowess of our era, our country, and our race through- 
out the world. The day will come when the picture 
of the soldier who wore the gray will hang side by side 
with that of the soldier who wore the blue, and be 
pointed to with undiscriminating elation by a common 
progeny. The day has already come when the ani- 
mosities of war, growing less and less distinct as the 
years have passed, should disappear altogether from 
the hearts of brave men and good women. I can truly 
say that each soldier who laid down his life for his 
opinions was my comrade, no matter in which army he 
fought. 

We are assembled, my countrymen, to commemorate 
the patriotism and valor of the brave men who died to 
save the Union. We stand upon consecrated ground. 
In the deep seclusion of this hallowed spot there is 
nothing to disturb the mind or inflame the heart. The 
season brings its tribute to the scene; pays its homage 
to the dead; inspires the living. There are images of 
tranquillity all about us: in the calm sunshine upon 
the ridges; in the tender shadows that creep along the 
streams; in the waving grass and grain that mark 
God's love and bounty; in the flowers that bloom over 
the many, many graves. There is peace everywhere in 
this land to-day. 

277 



The Compromises of Life 

"Peace on the open seas, 
In all our sheltered bays and ample streams, 
Peace where'er our starry banner gleams, 
And peace in every breeze." 

The war is over. It is for us to bury its passions 
with its dead ; to bury them beneath a monument raised 
by the American people to American manhood and the 
American system, in order that "the nation shall, under 
God, have a new birth of freedom, and that the gov- 
ernment of the people, by the people, and for the peo- 
ple shall not perish from the earth." 

There is no one of us, wore he the one cloth or the 
other, come he from the granite hills of New England 
or the orange groves of the Sunny South, who has 
not an interest for himself and for his children in the 
preservation and perpetuation of Free America. It is 
a reciprocal, as well as a joint interest; and, relating 
to the greatest of human affairs, it ought to be not 
only a paramount, but a holy interest. The most ob- 
stinate of partisans, the most untravelled of provincials, 
cannot efface or obscure, still less dispute, the story of 
heroism in war, of moderation in peace, which, written 
in letters of vestal fire, will blaze forever upon our 
national tablets. The occasion which brings us here 
has this significance: it is illustrative; it tells us that 
we have come to understand that there could be no 
lasting peace, nor real republicanism, while any free- 
man's right was abridged, or any patriot's grave un- 
278 



The Nation's Dead 

honored. The freedom of each and every State, of 
each and every citizen, is at length assured; and there 
remains no longer so much as a pretext why the glory 
of the past, marked by the graves of all who fell in 
the battle, should not become the property of the whole 
people. The old feudal ideas of treason do not belong 
to our institutions or our epoch. Their influence in 
public affairs, as far as they have influenced public 
affairs, has been hostile to the national unity and peace. 
Our future is to be secured by generous concessions, for 
ours was a war of mistakes, not of disgraces. 

There was an organic question left fatally open by 
the authors of our Constitution. There was a property 
interest madly entangled with the moral nature of the 
time. There was no tribunal having power to deter- 
mine the issue. It is, perhaps, little to say that, had 
the people foreseen all the consequences, they would 
not have resorted to arms; on the contrary, recent ex- 
perience shows us that they would have made supreme 
sacrifices for the sake of peace. All history relates that 
wars are more or less the subjects of misconception and 
mischance. It is rare, indeed, if ever, when all the 
right lies on the one side and all the wrong on the other. 
In our case, and I take leave to speak for both sides, 
we have much to deplore, nothing to make us ashamed. 
Assuredly, the world has never seen terms so liberal 
extended to soldiers beaten in civil broil; or known 
such abstinence from sanguinary revenges during the 
279 



The Compromises of Life 

progress of the strife. It is necessary to remind no 
one of the conduct of Grant and Sherman in the mo- 
ment of their triumph. The conflicts of this present 
hour cannot shut out from the hearts of grateful men 
the spectacle of that dismal day, when, rising above 
the passions of victory and the ruins of conquest, the 
chiefs of the armies of the North remembered not 
merely that they were soldiers and men of honor, but 
that they were Americans. It was our Lee who paid 
the honors of war to your Kearny. When the body 
of Morgan was borne to its last resting-place, soldiers 
of the Union, assembled by chance on the public 
square in Nashville, stood, soldier-like, uncovered as 
their fallen adversary passed. When McPherson fell 
a thrill of sorrow went along the whole Confederate 
line. I believe, to-day, that the assassination of Abra- 
ham Lincoln is lamented in the South hardly less than 
in the North. 

I know, my friends, that narrow-minded and em- 
bittered partisans will say there is nothing in all this. 
I know that theorists will declare that great results 
are not reached through the afiFections. I am ready 
to admit the caprice as well as the insubstantiality 
which belong to influences of the sentimental sort. 
But every line of understanding must have some bond 
of feeling; and I maintain that those touches of man- 
hood, of nature, of sorrow, of pride, of generosity and 
pity, which make the whole world kin, tell us specifi- 
280 



The Nation's Dead 

cally and with emphasis that we are of one family, and 
should be of one household forever. It is not a matter 
of faith and hope, but of experience and observation, 
with me, proclaimed on all occasions these dozen years 
and more, that the people of the North and South are 
one people, thoroughly homogeneous, differing only in 
those externals which, the universe over, distinguish 
several communities. That which is wanting in us is 
less of self-conceit and more of love for our country; a 
deeper, sincerer devotion to the principles of civil lib- 
erty which are bound up in the system under which 
we live; a self-sacrificing spirit where the honor of the 
nation is at stake. To sectionalism and partyism we 
owe our undoing. We shall owe our restoration to 
nationalism, and to nationalism alone. The man who 
was a Confederate, and is a nationalist, must feel when 
treading the floor of Faneuil Hall that he is at home. 
In every part of the South the starry ensign of the Re- 
public must be not only a symbol of protection, but the 
source and resource of popular enthusiasm. Above all, 
the cabin of the poor man, whatever his color, race, or 
opinions, must be a freeman's castle. In the North, 
constitutional traditions must revive; in the South, the 
old Inspirations of the Union. 

I declare here to-day that the South, more especially 

the young manhood of the South, yearns for national 

fellowship. It stretches out its arms to the national 

government beseechingly; It entreats the North not to 

281 



The Compromises of Life 

build up a national spirit which shall in a word or 
thought proscribe it, or those who are to come after 
it. The present generation of Southern men is in 
no wise responsible for the acts of the last. It has no 
antecedents except those which illustrated its sincerity 
and its valor on the battle-field; its fidelity to its be- 
liefs; its fidelity to its leaders; its fidelity to itself. 
These are but so many hostages to the nation at large. 
Instead of stigmatizing it, the victor in the fight should 
throw over the South the flag of the Republic; should 
place in front of it the emblematic eagles of the State; 
should fold it round from the dark and the light with 
the instinct of maternity, tenderest to its crippled off- 
spring. To the young men of the South the country 
must look for the resurrection of the South. They 
should carry no dead weights either in their hearts or 
on their backs. The work of physical liberation, which 
is happily ended, is to be followed by a greater, a 
grander work — the work of moral emancipation. A 
sagacious statesmanship, even more than a generous 
magnanimity points to this as alike the hope of the 
white man and the black man; the real restoration of 
the Union; the true solution of the problems of life 
and labor raised up by the mighty vicissitudes of the 
last fifteen years. 

It is not my purpose to speak of current political 
issues, except those which are always current, which 
are above all parties — our whole country, our whole 
282 



The Nation's Dead 

people — the glory of the one, the integrity of the 
other. Those of us who stood in the front of the bat- 
tle, who suffered and endured, settled the account be- 
tween ourselves long ago. We may quarrel never so 
much, as honest men will and as honest men ought, 
about the things of to-day. That is republicanism 
which gives each man the right, as it imposes upon each 
the duty, to speak his mind out freely, to make his 
wants known — subject neither to bayonet nor ban — 
limited only by the injunctions set by God upon the 
sincerity, no less than the courage, of all men's con- 
viction. In the party sense, we may quarrel to-day 
and fraternize to-morrow; what boots it? There is 
no one of us who does not know in the core of his 
heart that, as matters of fact and truth, such quarrels 
have no bottom to them. They make us angry, 
abusive, ungenerous. As a rule, the warmest and 
truest natures are, for the moment, most intolerant. 
The most charitable, the most magnanimous of men, 
believing themselves in the right, believing all who do 
not agree with them in the wrong, become unyielding, 
sometimes bitter. It is an attribute of simple earnest- 
ness. Those who possess it should prize it, and, after 
the event, weigh its conclusions with discrimination. 
Let a counter-interest come between, let a common 
grief, and lo! the mist rises. Those who worship the 
same God, who kneel at the same shrine, who breathe 
to Heaven the same prayers, who sing the same songs, 
283 



The Compromises of Life 

in whose mouths the inspirations of holy writ and the 
precepts of Anglo-Saxon freedom are as familiar as 
household words, can afford no impassable gulfs, can- 
not seriously and permanently be estranged. The dead 
who lie here; the dead of all the battle-fields, the dead 
of the South and the North, comrades at last in the 
immortality of the soul, can leave us, do leave us, this 
lesson only: That we are Americans; that we are re- 
publicans; that we are blessed in our condition; that 
we should cherish it and one another, for God's sake 
and for the honor of the flag! The poet put it in- 
versely when he wrote: 

"I think in the lives of most women and men 

There's a time when all might go smooth and even, 
If only the dead could find out when 
To come back and be forgiven." 

Alas, it is the living who must go to the dead for 
instructions. The brave hearts that lie about us here 
have nothing to ask of us. They are everlasting, now. 
They know all. They are moved no longer by the 
fever, the worry and the fret, the error and the folly, 
the laughter and the tears of this poor world. They 
need seek the forgiveness of none of us. They earned 
their shining titles of the ever-living God on the field of 
battle. I would put upon their graves the inscription 
which marks the last resting-place of two brothers in 
Virginia, who fell on opposing sides, "Which was 
right? God knows." I care not to know, I do know 
284 



The Nation's- Dead 

that all of us thought we were right ; and, feeling as I 
do, I would visit, and revisit, these burial-places, not 
to light the torches of hatred, but, by humiliation and 
prayer, to draw from those mystic forces of the invis- 
ible, which move us we know not how, some token, 
some inspiration, for the future. 

I hope, my friends, that, though speaking in the 
general, and making no effort at display, I put the 
case with plainness. All of us here are neighbors. We 
know each other fairly well; we are moved by the 
every-day promptings of our lot; some good, some ill. 
We ought not to desire a ceremony like this to be im- 
posing, or grand, or in any way ostentatious. He 
would be a poor maker of phrases who could not turn 
it to account. I come to you, come back to you, who 
went hence a boy, but who has preserved the instincts, 
with the traditions, of a youth which, as you will re- 
member, cannot be brought to contradict what, in my 
mature manhood, I have tried to say. I hoped, when 
you called me, that I might contribute a little to 
the era of good-will, conceiving that its only value 
would be its sincerity; for I need but repeat myself — 
ever since you knew me — to do honor to the patriot- 
ism, and valor of those who died to save the Union, 
gratitude and respect to those who have lived to save 
it. War or no war, we are all countrymen, fellow- 
citizens; and it is no empty sentiment or idle rhap- 
sody which seeks to bring us nearer together. The 
285 



The Compromises of Life 

day of the sectionalist is over. The day of the nation- 
alist has come. It has come, and it will grow brighter 
and brighter, dotting the land, not with battle-fields, 
but with school-houses, in which our children, in- 
structed better than ourselves, will learn to discern the 
shallow arts of the self-seeking demagogue, who would 
thrive by playing upon men's ignorance and passion. 
We have seen within the last few weeks how a little 
generosity in the fountains of our political existence 
has warmed the hearts of men and elevated the tone 
of public life. This tells us simply but truly that 
party lines are not, and ought not to be, lines of bat- 
tle, separating men committed to deadly strife. It tells 
us that we, the people — acting as a nation — should be 
sufficiently independent, because sufficiently enlight- 
ened, to detect the true from the false in our leaders 
and in our system. There are few of us who do not 
know instinctively the truth. We are constantly de- 
ceiving ourselves, constantly and consciously allowing 
ourselves to be deceived, by sordid circumstance and 
special pleading. I shall not pretend that it is possible 
for us to escape this infirmity of human nature. That 
which I plead for, which I have pleaded for all my 
life, is that we shall be governed in our public inter- 
course by the same fair-minded and self-respecting prin- 
ciples of conduct which good men bring to their pri- 
vate intercourse. 

Fellow-soldiers of the Union: I cannot close with- 
286 



The Nation's Dead 

out thanking you for the opportunity your generosity 
has given me to speak in this place, and on my native 
soil, for your country and my country, for your flag 
and my flag. The Union is indeed restored, when the 
hands that pulled that flag down come willingly 
and lovingly to put it up again. I come with a 
full heart and a steady hand to salute the flag that 
floats above me — my flag and your flag — the flag of 
the Union — the flag of the free heart's hope and home 
— the star-spangled banner of our fathers — the flag 
that, uplifted triumphantly over a few brave men, has 
never been obscured, destined by the God of the uni- 
verse to waft on its ample folds the eternal song of 
freedom to all mankind, emblem of the power on earth 
which is to exceed that on which it was said the 
sun never went down. I had it in my mind to say 
that it is for us, the living, to decide whether the hun- 
dreds of thousands who fell on both sides during the 
battle were blessed martyrs to an end, shaped by a wis- 
dom greater than ours, or whether they died in vain. 
I shall not admit the thought. They did not die in 
vain. The power, the divine power, which made for 
us a garden of swords, sowing the land broadcast 
with sorrow, will reap thence for us, and for the ages, 
a nation truly divine; a nation of freedom and of free- 
men; where tolerance shall walk hand in hand with 
religion, while civilization points out to patriotism the 
many open highways to human right and glory. 
287 



THE NEW SOUTH* 

I assure you that I consider this a very great oc- 
casion. I might call it an event in my life. It is true 
that my intercourse with banks and bankers has ever 
been of a pleasing and satisfactory character — and I 
hope equally so on both sides of the counter — but I 
never did expect to catch the whole banking system 
of the country "on the wing," as it were, and to get 
*'the drop on it!" The temptation to proceed to busi- 
ness is almost irresistible, and, if my friend Haldeman, 
who has a turn for these things and is a magician in 
exchanges, renewals, and discounts, were only here, we 
might pool the billions which you represent, get up a 
corner on the national debt, and take out a post-obit 
on the public credit! 

There is something exhilarating in the sense of 
rubbing against so much money, and, for the first time, 
I can realize the full meaning of the immortal Sellers 
when he said: ''Millions of it! Millions of it! float- 
ing about in the air." 

Being a provident person, and not without a cer- 
tain prudent forecast, I have always been a friend to 

* American Bankers' Association, Louisville, October ii, 1883. 
288 



The New South 

the banks. A man may quarrel with his wife; he may 
sometimes venture a suggestion to his mother-in-law; 
but he must love, honor, and obey his banker. 

It was not, however, to hear of banks and bankers 
and banking that you did me the honor to call me be- 
fore you. I am told that to-day you are considering 
that problem which has so disturbed the politicians — 
the South — and that you wish me to talk to you about 
the South. The South! The South! It is no prob- 
lem at all. I thank God that at last we can say with 
truth, it is simply a geographic expression. The whole 
story of the South may be summed up in a sentence: 
She was rich, and she lost her riches; she was poor 
and in bondage; she was set free, and she had to go 
to work; she went to work, and she is richer than ever 
before. You see it was a ground-hog case. The soil 
was here. The climate was here ; but along with them 
was a curse, the curse of slavery. God passed the rod 
across the land and smote the people. Then, in His 
goodness and mercy. He waved the wand of enchant- 
ment, and, lo, like a flower. His blessing burst forth! 
Indeed, may the South say, as in the experience of men 
it is rare for any to say with perfect sincerity: 

"Sweet are the uses of adversity." 

The South never knew what independence meant 
until she was taught by subjection to subdue herself. 
We lived from hand to mouth. We had our debts 
289 



The Compromises of Life 

and our niggers. Under the old system we paid our 
debts and walloped our niggers. Under the new we 
pay our niggers and wallop our debts. We have no 
longer any slaves, but we have no longer any debts, 
and can exclaim, with the old darky at the camp-meet- 
ing, who, whenever he got happy, went about shout- 
ing: "Bless the Lord! I'm gittin' fatter an' fatter!" 

The truth is that, behind the great ruffle the South 
wore to its shirt, there lay concealed a superb man- 
hood. That this manhood was perverted, there is no 
doubt. That it wasted its energies upon trifles, is be- 
yond dispute. That it took a pride in cultivating what 
it called "the vices of a gentleman," I am afraid must 
be admitted. But, at heart, it was sound; from that 
heart flowed honest Anglo-Saxon blood; and, when it 
had to lay aside its broadcloth and put on its jeans, it 
was equal to the emergency. And the women of the 
South took their place by the side of the men of the 
South, and, with spinning-wheel and ploughshare, to- 
gether they made a stand against the wolf at the door. 
That was fifteen years ago, and to-day there is not a 
reward offered in a single Southern State for wolf- 
skins. The fact is, the very wolves have got ashamed 
of themselves and gone to work. 

I beg you to believe that, in saying this, my purpose 
is neither to amuse nor to mislead you. Although my 
words may seem to carry with them an unbusiness- 
like levity, I assure you that my design is wholly busi- 
290 



The New South 

ness-like. You can see for yourselves here in Louis- 
ville what the South has done; what the South can 
do. If all this has been achieved without credit, and 
without your powerful aid — and I am now addressing 
myself to the North and East, which have feared to 
come South with their money — what might not be 
achieved if the vast aggregations of capital in the fiscal 
centres should add this land of wine, milk, and honey 
to their fields of investment and give us the same cheap 
rates which are enjoyed by nearer but not safer bor- 
rowers? The future of the South is not a whit less 
assured than the future of the West. Why should 
money, which is freely loaned to Iowa and Illinois, be 
refused to Alabama and Mississippi? I perfectly un- 
derstand that business is business, and that capital is as 
unsectional as unsentimental. I am speaking from 
neither spirit. You have money to loan. We have a 
great country to develop. 

We need the money. You can make a profit of? 
the development. When I say that we need money, 
I do not mean the sort of money once demanded by 
an old Georgia farmer, who, in the early days, came 
up to Milledgeville to see General Robert Toombs, at 
the time a director of the State Bank. ''Robert," says 
he, "the folks down our way air in need of more 
money." The profane Robert replied: "Well, how in 
the h — are they going to get it?" "Why," says the 
farmer, "can't yau stomp it?" "Suppose we do stomp 
291 



The Compromises of Life 

it, how are we going to redeem it?" "Exactly, Rob- 
ert, exactly. That was just what I was coming to. 
You see, the folks down our way air agin redemption." 
We want good money, honest money, hard money, 
money that will redeem itself. 

We have given hostages to fortune, and our works 
are before you. I know that capital is proverbially 
timid. But what are you afraid of? Is it our cotton 
that alarms you ? or our corn ? or our sugar ? Perhaps 
it is our coal and iron. Without you, in truth, many 
of these products must make slow progress, while 
others will continue to lie hid in the bowels of the 
earth. With you the South will bloom as a garden 
and sparkle as a gold-mine; for, whether you tickle 
her fertile plains with a straw or apply a more violent 
titillation to her fat mountain-sides, she is ready to 
laugh a harvest of untold riches! 

I am not a banker, and it would be a kind of effron- 
tery in me to undertake to advise you in your own busi- 
ness. But there is a point which relates to the safe 
investment of money on which I can venture to express 
an opinion with some positivity. That is, the political 
stability, involving questions of law and order, in the 
South. My belief is that life and property are as secure 
in the South as they are in New England. I am certain 
that men are at least as safe in Kentucky and Tennessee 
as women seem to be in Connecticut. The truth is, the 
war is over and the country is whole again. The people, 
292 



The New South 

always homogeneous, have a common, national Interest. 
For my own part, I have never believed in Isothermal 
lines, air-lines, and water-lines separating distinct 
races. I no more believe that that river yonder, divid- 
ing Indiana and Kentucky, marks off two distinct spe- 
cies than I believe that the great Hudson, flowing 
through the State of New York, marks off distinct 
species. Such theories only live in the fancy of mor- 
bid minds. We are all one people. Commercially, 
financially, morally, we are one people. Divide as 
we will into parties, we are one people. It Is this sense 
which gives a guarantee of peace and order at the 
South, and offers a sure and lasting escort to all the 
capital which may come to us for investment. 



293 



LET US HAVE PEACE* 

I believe that, at this moment, the people of the 
United States are nearer together, in all that constitutes 
kindred feeling and common interest, than they have 
been at any time since the adoption of the Federal Con- 
stitution. If it were not so, I should hardly venture 
to come here and talk to you as I am going to talk 
to-night. As it is, surrounded though I be by Union 
soldiers, my bridges burned, and every avenue of escape 
cut off, I am not in the least disconcerted or appalled. 
On the contrary, I never felt safer or happier, or more 
at home. Indeed, I think that, supported by your pres- 
ence and sustained by these commissary stores, I could 
stand a siege of several months and hold out against 
incredible odds. It is wonderful how circumstances 
alter cases : for it was not always so. 

I am one of many witnesses who live to tell the story 
of a journey to the moon, and back! It may not be 
that I have any marvels of personal adventure or any 
prodigies of individual valor to relate; but I do 
not owe my survival to the precaution taken by a 
member of the Confederate battery, commanded by 
the brave Captain Howell, of Georgia. It was 

♦Annual Banquet, Society of the Army of the Tennessee, Chicago, 
October 9, 1 89 1. 

294 



Let Us Have Peace 

the habit of this person to go to the rear whenever 
the battery got well under fire. At last Captain How- 
ell called him up and admonished him that, if the breach 
of duty was repeated, he would shoot him down as he 
went, without a word. The reply came on the instant : 
"That's all right, Cap'n ; that's all right ; you can shoot 
me; but I'll be dadburned if I'm going to let them 
darn'd Yankees do it !" I at least gave you the oppor- 
tunity to try, and I am much your debtor that, in my 
case, your marksmanship was so defective. 

You have been told that the war is over. I think 
that I, myself, have heard that observation. I am glad 
of it. Roses smell sweeter than gunpowder ; for every- 
day uses the carving-knife is preferable to the bayonet, 
or the sabre; and, in a contest for first choice between 
cannon-balls and wine-corks, I have a decided prejudice 
in favor of the latter ! 

The war is over, and it is well over. God reigns, 
and the Government at Washington still lives. I am 
glad of that. I can conceive nothing worse for our- 
selves, nothing worse for our children, than what might 
have been if the war had ended otherwise, leaving two 
exhausted combatants to become the prey of foreign in- 
tervention and diplomacy, setting the clock of civiliza- 
tion back a century, and splitting the noblest of the con- 
tinents into five or six weak and warring republics, like 
those of South America, to repeat in the New World 
the mistakes of the Old. 

295 



The Compromises of Life 

The war is over, truly ; and, let me repeat, it is well 
over. If anything were wanting to proclaim its ter- 
mination from every house-top and door-post in the 
land, that little brush we had last spring with Signor 
Macroni furnished it. As to the touch of an electric 
bell, the whole people rallied to the brave words of the 
Secretary of State, and, for the moment, sections and 
parties sank out of sight and thought in one overmaster- 
ing sentiment of racehood, manhood, and nationality. 

I shall not stop to inquire whether the war made us 
better than we were. It certainly made us better ac- 
quainted, and, on the whole, it seems to me that we are 
none the worse for that better acquintance. The truth 
is, the trouble between us was never more than skin- 
deep ; and the curious thing about it is that it was not 
our skin, anyhow! It was a black skin, not a white 
skin, that brought it about. 

As I see it, our great sectional controversy was, from 
first to last, the gradual evolution of a people from dark- 
ness to light, with no charts or maps to guide them, and 
no experience to lead the way. 

The framers of our Constitution found themselves 
unable to fix decisively and to define accurately the 
exact relation of the States to the Federal Government. 
On that point they left what may be described as an 
"open clause," and through that open clause, as through 
an open door, the grim spectre of disunion stalked. It 
was attended on one hand by African slavery: on the 
296 



Let Us Have Peace 

other hand by sectional jealousy, and, between these evil 
spirits, the household flower of peace was torn from its 
stem and tossed into the caldron of war. 

In the beginning, all of us were guilty, and equally 
guilty, for African slavery. It was the good fortune 
of the North first to find out that slave labor was 
not profitable. So, very sensibly, it sold its slaves to 
the South, which, very disastrously, pursued the delu- 
sion. Time at last has done its perfect work : the South 
sees now, as the North saw before it, that the system of 
slavery, as it existed, was the clumsiest and costliest 
labor system on earth, and that when we took the field 
to fight for it we set out upon a fool's errand. Under 
slave labor the yield of cotton never reached five million 
bales. Under free labor it has never fallen below that 
figure, gradually ascending to six and seven, until, this 
year, it is about to reach nearly nine million bales. 

This tells the whole story. I am not here to talk 
politics, of course. But I put it to you whether this is 
not a pretty good showing for free black labor, and 
whether, with such showing, the Southern whites can 
afford any other than just and kind treatment to the 
blacks, without whom, indeed, the South would be a 
brier-patch and half our national gold-income a gaping 
hole in the ground ! 

Gentlemen, I beg that you will not be apprehensive. 
I know full well that this is neither a time, nor place, 
for abstract economies ; and I am not going to afflict you 
297 



The Compromises of Life 

with a dissertation upon free trade or free silver. I 
came, primarily, to bow my head and to pay my measure 
of homage to the statue that was unveiled to-day. The 
career and the name which that statue commemorates 
belong to me no less than to you. When I followed 
him to the grave — proud to appear in the obsequies, 
though as the obscurest of those who bore an official 
part therein — I felt that I was helping to bury not only 
a great man, but a true friend. From that day to this 
the story of the life and death of General Grant has 
more and more impressed and touched me. 

I never allowed myself to make his acquaintance until 
he had quitted the White House. The period of his 
political activity was full of uncouth and unsparing par- 
tisan contention. It was a kind of civil war. I had 
my duty to do, and I did not dare to trust myself to the 
subduing influence of what I was sure must follow 
friendly relations between such a man as he was and 
such a man as I knew myself to be. In this I was not 
mistaken, as the sequel proved. I met him for the first 
time beneath my own vine and fig-tree, and a happy 
series of accidents, thereafter, gave me the opportunity 
to meet him often and to know him well. He was^ the 
embodiment of simplicity, integrity, and courage ; every 
inch a general, a soldier, and a man ; but, in the circum- 
stances of his last illness, a figure of heroic proportions 
for the contemplation of the ages. I recall nothing in 
history so sublime as the spectacle of that brave spirit, 
298 



Let Us Have Peace 

broken in fortune and in health, with the dread hand of 
the dark angel clutched about his throat, struggling with 
every breath to hold the clumsy, unfamiliar weapon 
with which he sought to wrest from the jaws of death 
something for the support of wife and children when he 
was gone! If he had done nothing else, that would 
have made his exit from the world an epic ! 

A little while after I came to my home from the last 
scene of all, I found that a woman's hand had collected 
the insignia I had worn in the magnificent, melancholy 
pageant — the orders assigning me to duty and the 
funeral scarfs and badges — and had grouped and framed 
them ; unbidden, silently, tenderly ; and when I reflected 
that the hands that did this were those of a loving 
Southern woman, whose father had fallen on the Con- 
federate side in the battle, I said: "The war indeed is 
over; let us have peace!" Gentlemen; soldiers; com- 
rades ; the silken folds that twine about us here, for all 
their soft and careless grace, are yet as strong as hooks 
of steel ! They hold together a united people and a 
great nation ; for, realizing the truth at last — with no 
wounds to be healed and no stings of defeat to remember 
— the South says to the North, as simply and as truly 
as was said three thousand years ago in the far-away 
meadow upon the shores of the mystic sea: * 'Whither 
thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will 
lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my 
God." 

299 



OUR EXPANDING REPUBLIC* 

Among the wonders of creative and constructive 
genius in course of preparation for this Festival of 
the Nations, whose formal and official inauguration 
has brought us together, will presently be witnessed 
upon the margin of the inter-ocean, which gives to 
this noble and beautiful city the character and rank 
of a maritime metropolis, a Spectatorium, wherein the 
Columbian epic will be told with realistic effects sur- 
passing the most splendid and impressive achievements 
of the modern stage. No one, who has had the good 
fortune to see the models of this extraordinary work 
of art, can have failed to be moved by the union, which 
it embodies, of the antique in history and the modern 
in life and thought, as, beginning with the weird men- 
dicant fainting upon the hill-side of Santa Rabida, it 
traces the strange adventures of the Genoese seer from 
the royal camp of Santa Fe to the sunny coasts of the 
Isles of Inde; through the weary watches of the end- 
less night, whose sentinel stars seemed set to mock 
but not to guide; through the trackless and shoreless 
wastes of the mystic sea, spread day by day to bear 

* Dedication of the World's Fair, Chicago, October ai, 189a. 
300 



Our Expanding Republic 

upon every rise and fall of its heaving bosom the death 
of fair, fond hopes, the birth of strange, fantastic fears ; 
the peerless and thrilling revelation, and all that has 
followed to the very moment that beholds us here, citi- 
zens, freemen, equal shareholders in the miracle of 
American civilization and freedom. Is there one 
among us who does not thank his Maker that he has 
lived to join in this universal celebration, this jubilee 
of mankind? 

I am appalled when I realize the meaning of the 
proclamation which has been delivered in our pres- 
ence. The painter, employed by command of the self- 
styled Lord's anointed to render to the eye some par- 
ticular exploit of the people or the king, knows 
precisely what he has to do; there is a limit set upon 
his purpose; his canvas is measured; his colors are 
blended, and, with the steady and sure hand of the 
master, he proceeds, touch upon touch, to body forth 
the forms of things known and visible. Who shall 
measure the canvas or blend the colors that are to 
bring to the mind's eye of the present the scenes of 
the past in American glory? Who shall attempt to 
summon the dead to life, and out of the tomb of the 
ages recall the tones of the martyrs and heroes whose 
voices, though silent forever, still speak to us In all that 
we are as a nation, in all that we do as men and 
women ? 

We look before and after, and we see through the 
301 



The Compromises of Life 

half-drawn folds of Time, as through the solemn arch- 
ways of some vast cathedral, the long procession pass, 
as silent and as real as a dream; the caravels, tossing 
upon Atlantic billows, have their sails refilled from 
the East and bear away to the West; the land is 
reached, and fulfilled is the vision whose actualities are 
to be gathered by other hands than his who planned 
the voyage and steered the bark of discovery ; the long- 
sought, golden day has come to Spain at last, and Cas- 
tilian conquests tread one upon another fast enough to 
pile up perpetual power and riches. 

But even as simple justice was denied Columbus was 
lasting tenure denied the Spaniard. 

We look again, and we see in the far Northeast the 
Old World struggle between the French and English 
transferred to the new, ending in the epic upon the 
heights above Quebec; we see the sturdy Puritans in 
bell-crowned hats and sable garments assail In unequal 
battle the savage and the elements, overcoming both, 
to rise against a mightier foe; we see the gay but 
dauntless Cavaliers, to the southward, join hands with 
the Roundheads in holy rebellion. And, lo! down 
from the green-walled hills of New England, out of 
the swamps of the Carolinas, come, faintly to the ear 
like far-away forest leaves stirred to music by autumn 
winds, the drum-taps of the Revolution; the tramp of 
the minute-men, Israel Putnam riding before; the 
hoof-beats of Sumter's horse galloping to thp front; 
302 



Our Expanding Republic 

the thunder of Stark's guns in spirit-battle; the gleam 
of Marion's watch-fires in ghostly bivouac; and there, 
there in serried, saint-like ranks on fame's eternal 
camping-ground, stand — 

"The old Continentals, 
In their ragged regimentals, 
Yielding not," 

as, amid the singing of angels in Heaven, the scene is 
shut out from our mortal vision by proud and happy 
tears. 

We see the rise of the young Republic ; and the gen- 
tlemen in knee-breeches and powdered wigs who signed 
the Declaration, and again the gentlemen in knee- 
breeches and powdered wigs who framed the Constitu- 
tion. We see the little nation menaced from without. 
We see the riflemen, in hunting-shirt and buckskin, 
swarm from the cabin in the wilderness to the rescue 
of country and home ; and our hearts swell to a second 
and final decree of independence won by the prowess 
and valor of American arms upon the land and sea. 

And then, and then — since there is no life of nations 
or of men without its shadow and its sorrow — there 
comes a day when the spirits of the fathers no longer 
walk upon the battlements of freedom; and all is 
dark; and all seems lost, save liberty and honor, and, 
praise God, our blessed Union. With these surviving, 
who shall marvel at what we see to-day ; this land filled 
303 



The Compromises of Life 

with the treasures of earth; this city, snatched from 
the ashes, to rise in splendor and renown, passing the 
mind to preconceive? 

Truly, out of trial comes the strength of man, out 
of peril comes the glory of the state! 

We are met this day to honor the memory of Chris- 
topher Columbus, to celebrate the four-hundredth an- 
nual return of the year of his transcendent achieve- 
ment, and, with fitting rites, to dedicate to America 
and the universe a concrete exposition of the world's 
progress between 1492 and 1892. No twenty cen- 
turies can be compared with those four centuries, 
either in importance or in interest, as no previous cere- 
monial can be compared with this in its wide signifi- 
cance and reach; because, since the advent of the Son 
of God, no event has had so great an influence upon 
human affairs as the discovery of the Western hemi- 
sphere. Each of the centuries that have intervened 
marks many revolutions. The merest catalogue would 
crowd a thousand pages. The story of the least of the 
nations would fill a volume. In what I have to say 
upon this occasion, therefore, I shall confine myself to 
our own; and, in speaking of the United States of 
America, I propose rather to dwell upon our character 
as a people, and our reciprocal obligations and duties 
as an aggregation of communities, held together by a 
fixed constitution, and charged with the custody of a 
union upon whose preservation and perpetuation in its 
304 



Our Expanding Republic 

original spirit and purpose the future of free, popular 
government depends, than to enter into a dissertation 
upon abstract principles, or to undertake an historic 
essay. We are a plain, practical people. We are a 
race of inventors and workers, not of poets and artists. 
We have led the world's movement, rather than its 
belles lettres. Our deeds are to be found not upon 
frescoed walls, or in ample libraries, but in the ma- 
chine-shop, where the spindles sing and the looms thun- 
der; on the open plain, where the steam-plough, the 
reaper, and the mower contend with one another in 
friendly war against the obduracies of nature; in the 
magic of electricity as it penetrates the darkest cav- 
erns with its irresistible power and light. Let us con- 
sider ourselves and our conditions, as far as we are 
able, with a candor untinged by cynicism, and a confi- 
dence having no touch of condescension. 

A better opportunity could not be desired for a study 
of our peculiarities than is furnished by the present mo- 
ment. 

We are in the midst of the quadrennial period es- 
tablished for the selection of a Chief Magistrate. 
Each citizen has his right of choice, each has his right 
to vote, and to have his vote freely cast and fairly 
counted. Wherever this right is assailed for any cause 
wrong is done and evil must follow, first to the whole 
country, which has an interest in all its parts, but most 
to the community immediately involved, which must 
305 



The Compromises of Life 

actually drink of the cup that has contained the poison, 
and cannot escape its infection. 

The abridgment of the right of suffrage, however, 
is very nearly proportioned to the ignorance or indif- 
ference of the parties concerned by it, and there is good 
reason to hope that, with the expanding intelligence of 
the masses and the growing enlightenment of the 
times, this particular form of corruption in elections 
will be reduced below the danger line. 

To that end, as to all other good ends, the modera- 
tion of public sentiment must ever be our chief reli- 
ance; for, when men are forced by the general desire 
for truth, and the light which our modern vehicles of 
information throw upon truth, to discuss public ques- 
tions for truth's sake; when it becomes the plain in- 
terest of public men, as it is their plain duty, to do this, 
and when, above all, friends and neighbors cease to 
love one another less because of individual differences 
of opinion about public affairs, the struggle for unfair 
advantage will be relegated to those who have either 
no character to lose, or none to seek. 

It is admitted on all sides that the immediate Presi- 
dential campaign is freer from excitement and tumult 
than was ever known before, and it is argued from this 
circumstance that we are traversing the epoch of the 
commonplace. If this be so, thank God for it! We 
have had full enough of the dramatic and sensational, 
and need a season of mediocrity and repose. But may 
306 



Our Expanding Republic 

we not ascribe the rational way in which the people are 
going about their business to larger knowledge and 
riper experience, and a fairer spirit than have hitherto 
marked our party contentions? 

Parties are as essential to free government as oxygen 
to the atmosphere, or sunshine to vegetation. And 
party spirit is inseparable from party organism. To 
the extent that it is tempered by good sense and good 
feeling, by love of country and integrity of purpose, it 
is a supreme virtue; and there should be no gag short 
of a decent regard for the sensibilities of others put 
upon its freedom of movement and plainness of utter- 
ance. Otherwise, the limpid pool of Democracy would 
stagnate, and we should have a republic only in name. 
But we should never cease to be admonished by the 
warning words of the Father of his Country against 
the excess of party spirit, reinforced as they are by the 
incidents of a century of party warfare ; a warfare hap- 
pily culminating in the complete triumph of American 
principles, but brought many times dangerously near 
the annihilation of all that was great and noble in the 
national life. 

Sursum Corda. The young manhood of the coun- 
try may take this lesson from those of us who lived 
through times that did, indeed, try men's souls — when, 
pressed down from day to day by awful responsibili- 
ties and suspense, each night brought a terror with 
every thought of the morrow, and, when, look where 
307 



The Compromises of Life 

we would, there were light and hope nowhere — that 
God reigns and wills, and that this fair land is, and 
has always been, in His own keeping. 

The curse of slavery is gone. It was a joint heri- 
tage of woe, to be wiped out and expiated in blood and 
flame. The mirage of the Confederacy has vanished. It 
was essentially bucolic, a vision of Arcadie, the dream 
of a most attractive economic fallacy. The Constitu- 
tion is no longer a rope of sand. The exact relation of 
the States to the Federal Government, left open to 
double construction by the authors of our organic be- 
ing, because they could not agree among themselves 
and union was the paramount object, has been clearly 
and definitely fixed by the three last amendments to the 
original chart, which constitute the real treaty of peace 
between the North and the South, and seal our bonds 
as a nation forever. 

The Republic represents at last the letter and the 
spirit of the sublime Declaration. The fetters that 
bound Columbia to the earth are burst asunder. The 
rags that degraded her beauty are cast aside. Like the 
enchanted princess in the legend, clad in spotless rai- 
ment and wearing a crown of stars, she steps in the 
perfection of her maturity upon the scene of this, the 
latest and proudest of her triumphs to bid a welcome 
to the world ! 

Need I pursue the theme? This vast assemblage 
speaks with a resonance which words can never com- 
308 



Our Expanding Republic 

pass. It speaks from the fields that are blessed by the 
never-failing waters of the Kennebec, and from the 
farms that sprinkle the valley of the Connecticut with 
mimic principalities more potent and lasting than the 
real; it speaks in the whir of the mills of Pennsyl- 
vania and In the ring of the wood-cutter's axe from 
the forests of the Lake peninsulas; It speaks from the 
great plantations of the South and West, teeming with 
staples that insure us wealth and power and stability; 
yea, and from the mines and forests and quarries of 
Michigan and Wisconsin, of Alabama and Georgia, 
of Tennessee and Kentucky, far away to the regions 
of silver and gold, that have linked the Colorado and 
the Rio Grande In close embrace, and annihilated time 
and space between the Atlantic and the Pacific; it 
speaks in one word from the hearth-stone In Iowa and 
Illinois, from the roof-tree in Mississippi and Arkan- 
sas, from the hearts of seventy millions of fearless, free- 
born men and women, and that one word is "Union"! 
There Is no geography in American manhood. 
There are no sections to American fraternity. It 
needs but six weeks to change a Vermonter Into a 
Texan, and there never has been a time when, upon 
the battle-field or the frontier, Puritan and Cavalier 
were not convertible terms, having In the beginning a 
common origin, and so diffused and diluted on Amer- 
ican soil as no longer to possess a local habitation, or a 
nativity, except In the National unit. 
309 



The Compromises of Life 

The men who planted the signals of American civ- 
ilization upon that sacred Rock by Plymouth Bay were 
Englishmen, and so were the men who struck the 
coast a little lower down, cradling by Hampton 
Roads a race of heroes and statesmen, the mention of 
whose names brings a thrill to every heart. The 
South claims Lincoln, the Immortal, for its own; the 
North has no right to reject Stonewall Jackson, the 
one typical Puritan soldier of the war, for its own! 
Nor will it ! The time is coming. Is almost here, when 
hanging above many a mantel-board In fair New Eng- 
land — glorifying many a cottage In the sunny South 
— shall be seen bound together, in everlasting love and 
honor, two cross-swords carried to battle respectively 
by the grandfather who wore the blue and the grand- 
father who wore the gray. 

I cannot trust myself to proceed. We have come 
here not so much to recall by-gone sorrows and glories, 
as to bask In the sunshine of present prosperity and 
happiness, to interchange patriotic greetings and in- 
dulge good auguries, and, above all, to meet upon the 
threshold the stranger within our gate, not as a 
stranger, but as a guest and friend, for whom nothing 
that we have Is too good. 

From wheresoever he cometh we welcome him with 

all our hearts : the son of the Rhone and the Garonne, 

our godmother, France, to whom we owe so much, 

he shall be our Lafayette ; the son of the Rhine and the 

310 



Our Expanding Republic 

Moselle, he shall be our Goethe and our Wagner; 
the son of the Campagna and the Vesuvian Bay, he 
shall be our Michael Angelo and our Garibaldi; the 
son of Arragon and the Indes, he shall be our Christo- 
pher Columbus, fitly honored at last throughout the 
world. 

Our good cousin of England needs no words of 
special civility and courtesy from us. For John the 
latch-string is ever on the outer side; though, whether 
it be or not, we are sure that he will enter and make 
himself at home. A common language enables us to 
do full justice to one another, at the festive-board, or 
in the arena of debate; warning both of us in equal 
tones against further parley on the field of arms. 

All nations and all creeds be welcome here: from 
the Bosphorus and the Black Sea, the Viennese woods 
and the Danubian hill-side; from Holland dike to Al- 
pine crag; from Belgrade and Calcutta, and round to 
China seas and the busy marts of Japan, the isles of 
the Pacific and the far-away capes of Africa — ^Arme- 
nian, Christian, and Jew — the American, loving no 
country except his own, but loving all mankind as his 
brother, bids you enter and fear not; bids you partake 
with us of these fruits of four hundred years of civ- 
ilization and development, and behold these trophies of 
one hundred years of enlightened self-government. 

At this moment, in every part of the American 
Union, the children are taking up the wondrous tale 
311 



The Compromises of Life 

of the discovery, and from Boston to Galveston, from 
the little log school-house in the wilderness to the tow- 
ering academy in the city and the town, may be wit- 
nessed the unprecedented spectacle of a powerful 
nation captured by an army of Liliputians, of embryo 
warriors and workers, statesmen and mothers, of top- 
pling boys and girls, and tiny elves scarce big enough 
to lisp the numbers of the national anthem; scarce 
strong enough to lift the miniature flags that make 
of arid street and autumn wood an emblematic gar- 
den, to gladden the sight and to glorify the red, white, 
and blue. See 

"Our young barbarians at play," 

for better than these we have nothing to exhibit. 
They, indeed, are our crown jewels: the truest, though 
the inevitable, offspring of our civilization and devel- 
opment ; the representatives of a manhood vitalized and 
invigorated by toil and care, of a womanhood elevated 
and inspired by liberty and education. God bless the 
children and their mothers! God bles? our country's 
flag ! And God be with us now and ever — God in the 
roof-tree's shade and God on the highway, God in the 
winds and waves, and God in all our hearts! 



312 



A WELCOME TO THE GRAND ARMY* 

That promissory note, drawn by me upon the city of 
Louisville, and discounted by you in the city of Pitts- 
burg a year ago — it has matured — and I am come to pay 
it ! You, who were so prompt and so generous about it, 
will not be displeased to learn that it puts us to no in- 
convenience to pay it. On the contrary, it having been 
one of those obligations on which the interest compound- 
ing day by day was designed to eat up the principal, its 
discharge leaves us poor only in the regret that we may 
not repeat the transaction every twelve months, and con- 
vert this central point of the universe into a permanent 
encampment for the Grand Army of the Republic. 

Except that historic distinctions have long been oblit- 
erated here, it might be mentioned that I appear before 
you as the representative alike of those who wore the 
blue and of those who wore the gray in that great sec- 
tional combat, which, whatever else it did or did not, 
left no shadow upon American soldiership, no stain 
upon American manhood. But, in Kentucky, the war 
ended thirty years ago. Familiar intercommunication 
between those who fought in it upon opposing sides; 

* Grand Army Encampment, Louisville, 1895. 



The Compromises of Life 

marriage and giving in marriage ; the rearing of a com- 
mon progeny; the ministrations of private friendship; 
the all-subduing influence of home and church and 
school, of v^^ife and child, have culminated in such a 
closely knit web of interests and affections that none of 
us care to disentangle the threads that compose it, and 
few of us could do so if we would. 

Here, at least, the lesson has been taught and learned 
that 

"You cannot chain the eagle. 
And you dare not harm the dove; 

But every gate 

Hate bars to hate 
Will open wide to love!" 

And the flag! God bless the flag! As the heart of 
McCallum More warmed to the tartan, do all hearts 
warm to the flag ! Have you upon your round of sight- 
seeing missed it hereabout ? Does it make itself on any 
hand conspicuous by its absence? Can you doubt the 
loyal sincerity of those who from house-top and roof- 
tree have thrown it to the breeze? Let some sacri- 
legious hand be raised to haul it down and see! No, 
no, comrades ; the people en masse do not deal in subter- 
fuges; they do not stoop to conquer; they may be 
wrong ; they may be perverse ; but they never dissemble. 
These are honest flags, with honest hearts behind them. 
They are the symbols of a nationality as precious to us 
as to you. They fly at last as Webster would have 
314 



A Welcome to the Grand Army 

had them fly, bearing no such mottoes as "What Is all 
this worth?" or ''Liberty first and union afterward," 
but blazing in letters of living light upon their ample 
folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, those 
words dear to every American heart, "Union and lib- 
erty, now and forever, one and inseparable!" 

And why not ? What is left for you and me to cavil 
about, far less to fight about? When Hamilton and 
Madison agreed in supporting a Constitution wholly 
acceptable to neither of them, they compromised some 
differences and they left some other differences open to 
double construction; and, among these latter, was the 
exact relation of the States to the General Government. 
The institution of African slavery, with its irreconcila- 
ble conditions, got between the North and the South, 

and . But I am not here to recite the history of 

the United States. You know what happened as well 
as I do, and we all know that there does not remain a 
shred of those old issues to divide us. There is not a 
Southern man to-day who would recall slavery if he 
could. There is not a Southern man to-day who would 
lightly brook the effort of a State to withdraw from the 
Union. Slavery is gone. Secession is dead. The 
Union, with its system of Statehood still intact, sur- 
vives ; and with it a power and glory among men pass- 
ing the dreams of the fathers of the Republic. You 
and I may fold our arms and go to sleep, leaving to 
younger men to hold and defend a property tenfold 
315 



The Compromises of Life 

greater than that received by us, its ownership un- 
clouded and its title-deeds recorded in Heaven ! 

It is, therefore, w^ith a kind of exultation that I fling 
open the gates of this gateway to the South ! I bid you 
welcome in the name of the people whose voice Is the 
voice of God. You came, and we resisted you; you 
come, and we greet you; for times change and men 
change with them. You will find here scarcely a sign 
of the battle ; not a reminiscence of Its passions. Grlm- 
vlsaged war has smoothed his wrinkled front, and 
whichever way you turn on either side, deepening as you 
advance — across the Chaplin Hills, where Jackson fell, 
to Stone's River, where Rosy fought — and on to Chat- 
tanooga and Chlckamauga and over Missionary Ridge, 
and down by Resaca and Kenesaw, and Allatoon, 
where Corse "held the fort," as a second time you 
march to the sea — pausing awhile about Atlanta to look 
with wonder on a scene risen as by the hand of enchant- 
ment — thence returning by way of Franklin and Nash- 
ville — you shall encounter, as you pass those mouldering 
heaps, which remind you.of your valor and travail, only 
the magnanimous spirit of dead heroes, with Grant and 
Sherman, and Thomas and McPherson and Logan look- 
ing down from the happy stars as if repeating the words 
of the Master — "Charity for all — malice toward none." 

We, too, have our graves; we, too, had our heroes! 
All, all are comrades now upon the other side, where 
you and I must shortly join them ; blessed, thrice blessed 

316 



A Welcome to the Grand Army 

we who have lived to see fulfilled the Psalmist's prophecy 
of peace : 

"Peace in the quiet dales, 
Made rankly fertile by the blood of men; 
Peace in the woodland and the lonely glen, 
Peace in the peopled vales. 

"Peace in the crowded town; 
Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain; 
Peace in the highway and the flow'ry lane, 
Peace o'er the wind-swept down. 

"Peace on the whirring marts, 
Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams. 
Peace, God of peace, peace, peace in all our homes, 
And all our hearts!" 



317 



THE PURITAN AND THE CAVALIER* 

Eight years ago, to-night, there stood where I am 
standing now a young Georgian, who, not without rea- 
son, recognized the "significance" of his presence here — 
"the first Southerner to speak at this board" — a circum- 
stance, let me add, not very creditable to any of us — 
and who, in words whose eloquence I cannot hope to 
recall, appealed from the New South to New England 
for a united country. 

He was my disciple, my protege, my friend. He 
came to me from the Southern schools, where he had 
perused the arts of oratory and letters, to get a few les- 
sons in journalism, as he said; needing so few, indeed, 
that, but a little later, I sent him to one of the foremost 
journalists of this foremost city, bearing a letter of in- 
troduction, which described him as "the greatest boy 
ever born in Dixie, or anywhere else." 

He is gone now. But, short as his life was, its 
Heaven-bom mission was fulfilled; the dream of its 
childhood was realized; for he had been appointed by 

* A response to the toast "The Puritan and the Cavalier," at the 
dinner of the New England Society Delmonico's, New York City, Satur- 
day evening, December ax, 1897. 

318 



The Puritan and the Cavalier 

God to carry a message of peace on earth, good-will to 
men, and, this done, he vanished from the sight of 
mortal eyes, even as the dove from the ark. 

I mean to take up the word where Grady left it off ; 
but I shall continue the sentence with a somewhat larger 
confidence, and, perhaps, with a somewhat fuller mean- 
ing; because, notwithstanding the Puritan trappings, 
traditions, and associations which surround me — visible 
illustrations of the self-denying fortitude of the Puri- 
tan character and the sombre simplicity of the Puritan 
taste and habit — I never felt less out of place in 
all my life. 

To tell you the truth, I am afraid that I have gained 
access here on false pretences ; for I am no Cavalier at 
all; just plain Scotch-Irish; one of those Scotch-Irish 
Southerners who ate no fire in the green leaf and has 
eaten no dirt in the brown, and who, accepting, for the 
moment, the terms Puritan and Cavalier in the sense an 
effete sectionalism once sought to ascribe to them — de- 
scriptive labels at once classifying and separating North 
and South — verbal redoubts along that mythical line 
called Mason and Dixon, over which there were sup- 
posed by the extremists of other days to be no bridges^ — I 
am much disposed to say, "A plague o' both your 
houses !" 

Each was good enough and bad enough, in its way, 
while they lasted; each in its turn filled the English- 
speaking world with mourning ; and each, if either could 
319 



The Compromises of Life 

have resisted the infection of the soil and climate they 
found here, would be to-day striving at the sword's 
point to square life by the iron-rule of theocracy, or to 
round it by the dizzy whirl of a petticoat! It is very 
pretty to read about the May-pole in Virginia, and very 
edifying and inspiring to celebrate the deeds of the Pil- 
grim fathers. But there is not Cavalier blood enough 
left in the Old Dominion to produce a single crop of 
first families, while, out in Nebraska and Iowa, they 
claim that they have so stripped New England of her 
Puritan stock as to spare her hardly enough for seed. 
This I do know, from personal experience, that it is 
impossible for the stranger-guest, sitting beneath a 
bower of roses in the Palmetto Club at Charleston, or 
by a mimic log-heap in the Algonquin Club at Boston, 
to tell the assembled company apart, particularly after 
ten o'clock in the evening! Why, in that great, final 
struggle between the Puritans and the Cavaliers — 
which we still hear sometimes casually mentioned — 
although it ended nearly thirty years ago — there had 
been such a mixing up of Puritan babies and Cavalier 
babies during the two or three generations preceding it 
— that the surviving grandmothers of the combatants 
could not, except for their uniforms, have picked out. 
their own on any field of battle ! 

Turning to the Encyclopaedia of American Biog- 
raphy, I find that Webster had all the vices that are 
supposed to have signalized the Cavalier, and Calhoun 
320 



The Puritan and the Cavalier 

all the virtues that are claimed for the Puritan. Dur- 
ing twenty years three statesmen of Puritan origin were 
the chosen party leaders of Cavalier Mississippi : Robert 
J. Walker, born and reared in Pennsylvania; John A. 
Quitman, born and reared in New York, and Sargent 
S. Prentiss, born and reared in the good old State of 
Maine. That sturdy Puritan, John Slidell, never saw 
Louisiana until he was old enough to vote and to fight ; 
native here — an alumnus of Columbia College — but 
sprung from New England ancestors. Albert Sidney 
Johnston, the most resplendent of modern Cavaliers — 
from trig to toe a type of the species — the very rose and 
expectancy of the young Confederacy — did not have a 
drop of Southern blood in his veins; Yankee on both 
sides of the house, though born in Kentucky a little 
while after his father and mother arrived there from 
Connecticut. The ambassador who serves our Gov- 
ernment near the French Republic was a gallant Con- 
federate soldier and is a representative Southern states- 
man ; but he owns the estate in Massachusetts where his 
father was born, and where his father's fathers lived 
through many generations. 

And the Cavaliers, who missed their stirrups, some- 
how, and got into Yankee saddles? The woods were 
full of them. If Custer was not a Cavalier, Rupert 
was a Puritan. And Sherwood and Wadsworth and 
Kearny, and McPherson, and their dashing companions 
and followers ! The one typical Puritan soldier of the 
321 



The Compromises of Life 

war — mark you I — was a Southern, and not a Northern^ 
soldier: Stonewall Jackson, of the Virginia line. And, 
if we should care to pursue the subject further back, 
what about Ethan Allen and John Stark and Mad An- 
thony Wayne, Cavaliers each and every one! Indeed, 
from Israel Putnam to Buffalo Bill, it seems to me the 
Puritans have had much the best of it in turning out 
Cavaliers. So the least said about the Puritan and the 
Cavalier — except as blessed memories or horrid exam- 
ples — the better for historic accuracy. 

If you wish to get at the bottom facts, I don't mind 
telling you — in confidence — that it was we Scotch-Irish 
who vanquished both of you — some of us in peace^ — 
others of us in war — supplying the missing link 
of adaptability — the needed ingredient of common- 
sense — the conservative principle of creed and ac- 
tion, to which this generation of Americans owes its 
intellectual and moral emancipation from frivolity and 
Pharisaism — its rescue from the Scarlet Woman and the 
mailed hand — and its crystallization into a national 
character and polity, ruling by force of brains and not 
by force of arms. 

Gentlemen — Sir — I, too, have been to Boston. 
Strange as the admission may seem, it is true; and I live 
to tell the tale. I have been to Boston; and, when I 
declare that I have found there many things that sug- 
gested the Cavalier and did not suggest the Puritan, I 
shall not say I was sorry. But, among other things, 
322 



The Puritan and the Cavalier 

I found there a civilization perfect in its union of the 
art of living w^ith the grace of life; an Americanism 
ideal in its simple strength. Grady told us, and told 
us truly, of that typical American, who, in Dr. Tal- 
mage's mind's eye, was coming, but who, in Abraham 
Lincoln's actuality, had already come. In some recent 
studies into the career of that great man, I have encoun- 
tered many startling confirmations of this judgment; 
and from that rugged trunk, drawing its sustenance 
from gnarled roots, interlocked Vv^ith Cavalier sprays 
and Puritan branches deep beneath the soil, shall spring, 
is springing, a shapely tree — symmetric in all its parts — 
under whose sheltering boughs this nation shall have 
the new birth of freedom Lincoln promised it, and man- 
kind the refuge which was sought by the forefathers 
when they fled from oppression. Thank God, the axe, 
the gibbet, and the stake have had their day. They 
have gone, let us hope, to keep company with the lost 
arts. It has been demonstrated that great wrongs may 
be redressed and great reforms be achieved without the 
shedding of one drop of human blood; that vengeance 
does not purify, but brutalizes; and that tolerance, 
which in private transactions is reckoned a virtue, be- 
comes in public affairs a dogma of the most far-seeing 
statesmanship. Else how could this noble city have 
been redeemed from bondage? It was held like a castle 
of the Middle Ages by robber barons. Yet have the 
mounds and dikes of corruption been carried — from 
323 



The Compromises of Life 

buttress to bell-tower the walls of crime have fallen — 
without a shot out of a gun, and still no fires of Smith- 
field to light the pathway of the victor, no bloody 
assizes to vindicate the justice of the cause; nor need of 
any. 

So I appeal from the men in silken hose who danced 
to music made by slaves — and called it freedom — from 
the men in bell-crowned hats, who led Hester Prynne 
to her shame — and called it religion — to that American- 
ism which reaches forth its arms to smite wrong with 
reason and truth, secure in the power of both. I appeal 
from the patriarchs of New England to the poets of 
New England; from Endicott to Lowell; from Win- 
throp to Longfellow; from Norton to Holmes; and I 
appeal in the name and by the rights of that common 
citizenship — of that common origin — back both of the 
Puritan and the Cavalier — to which all of us owe our 
being. Let the dead past, consecrated by the blood of 
its martyrs, not by its savage hatreds — darkened alike 
by kingcraft and priestcraft — let the dead past bury its 
dead. Let the present and the future ring with the 
song of the singers. Blessed be the lessons they teach 
the laws they make. Blessed be the eye to see, the light 
to reveal. Blessed be tolerance, sitting ever on the right 
hand of God to guide the way with loving word, as 
blessed be all that brings us nearer the goal of true 
religion, true Republicanism, and true patriotism, dis- 
trust of watchwords and labels, shams and heroes, belief 
324 



The Puritan and the Cavalier 

in our country and ourselves. It was not Cotton Ma- 
ther, but John Greenleaf Whittier, who cried : 

"Dear God and Father of us all, 
Forgive our faith in cruel lies. 
Forgive the blindness that denies. 

"Cast down our idols — overturn 
Our bloody altars — make us see 
Thyself in Thy humanity!" 



325 



THE REUNITED SECTIONS* 

If the illustrious soldier, whose memory we cele- 
brate, were with us here to-night, his heart would glow 
with satisfied pride in the answer which time has made 
to his prayer for peace between the once warring sec- 
tions of the Union, and in the spectacle which the pres- 
ent unfolds of a whole people rallying as a single man 
beneath the star-flowered flag of the Republic. 

I cannot help thinking that, when the history of our 
generation comes finally to be made up, it will be re- 
lated that two mistakes of the first order were per- 
petrated by the people of the United States the latter 
half of the nineteenth century. It was a mistake of 
the South, for any cause whatever, to precipitate a 
war of sections, and it was a mistake of the North, 
after the overthrow of the Confederacy, to undertake 
a reconstruction of the Union by force of arms. That 
the country has survived errors of such magnitude is 
proof of amazing vitality; of a vitality that draws its 
sustenance from the adaptability and the flexibility of 
free institutions and from a popular character equal to 
all emergencies, military and civic. Man proposes and 

* A response to the toast ** The Reunited Sections," Grant Birthday 
Banquet, Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York City, April 27, 1898. 

326 



The Reunited Sections 

God disposes, and often we build wiser than we know. 
Perhaps the very mischances of these forty years of do- 
mestic controversy were needful to make us the nation 
we are to-day. 

It was General Grant, himself, who issued the order 
finally withdrawing the troops from the Southern 
States; and, when we remember that it was none other 
than Grant who stood between the Confederate sol- 
dier and a surrender that might have been dishonoring 
to American manhood, the debt we owe our great 
captain becomes incalculable. 

There is just now, I regret to observe, a disposition 
manifested in certain quarters to magnify the arts of 
peace and to belittle the arts of war. Most of us know 
something about both; and, while I do confess that 
even this frugal repast and these homely provisions — 
done in Grant's honor and in our edification — are 
preferable to a banquet of hard-tack by a blazing 
brush-heap upon a Georgia hill-side, I shall not be the 
man to say that any of us is the worse for knowing 
from personal experience the actual difference. I have 
respect for the principle of international adjustment 
through moral suasion and mutual concession. I have 
respect for the principle of approved capability and 
fitness in the matter of appointments to office. But 
when a gentleman in gold-rimmed specs and a swal- 
low-tailed coat, standing with one foot on Arbitration 
and the other upon Civil Service Reform, solemnly 
327 



The Compromises of Life 

assures me that he has discovered perfectibility in gov- 
ernment, I take leave to have my doubts about it. I 
am grown so pessimistic, indeed, as to think that the 
one thing that we do not want, the one thing which 
would certainly disappoint us in case we got it, is the 
dreamer's idea of the ideal. Ideals, which exist for 
reformers, lovers, and poets, exist not for men and 
women. Those whose business it is to deal with life 
as it is, and who can afford to waste no time on self-de- 
ceptions, address themselves to the real, not to the ideal, 
and feel that they are fortunate if they come off with 
whole bones. The rich, red blood of nature, which 
makes men to act, and to act promptly, in times of dan- 
ger, is good enough for me; and I know nothing in 
American history more exhilarating than the episode of 
old Peter Muhlenberg, flinging aside his surplice and 
appearing in a full Continental uniform, exclaiming: 
"There is a time for all things — a time to preach and 
a time to pray; but there is also a time to fight, and 
that time has come!" 

If there was any doubt anywhere about the restora- 
tion of the Union, not merely in fact and in name, but 
in the spirit to which it owes its birth, the manifesta- 
tions of the last few weeks cannot have failed to dissi- 
pate it. That Spanish gentleman who proposed to sup- 
plement the forces of his country In Cuba by Inciting 
the South to another rebellion must surely have been 
the Knight of La Mancha come to life again, but quite 
328 



The Reunited Sections 

as bereft of reason as he was in the days of Sancho 
Panza and the lady of Toboso ; though, in truth, most 
of those supporting Spain in her ill-starred contention 
seem to be lineal descendants of the famous Don! 
Sir, the reunited sections of the Union stand a wall of 
iron between the Nation's honor and, if need be, all 
the world; stand a wall of fire between the stricken 
Cubans and any further hurt from Spain. We want 
no other warrant for our act of war than the cruel, 
the heartless story of the Spaniard in America. From 
the coming of Cortez and Pizarro to the going of 
Weyler — three centuries of brutality, irradiated only 
by the pirate's lust for plunder and the tiger's thirst 
for blood — each succeeding Captain-General has 
seemed to emulate Alva as a rival of Satan by seek- 
ing a second immortality of damnation. Before such 
an array, historical and contemporary, the true Amer- 
ican neither consults his geography nor counts the 
cost. His pulse-beats are the same in Massachusetts 
and in Mississippi, and whether the band plays **Yan- 
kee Doodle" or "Dixie" is all one to him! Assuming 
that in ordinary times it takes but a few months and 
a change of raiment to convert a typical Vermonter 
into a typical Texan, it has taken but a few weeks to 
impress upon the reunited sections of the Union the 
truth that we are the most homogeneous people on the 
face of the globe; that such differences as exist among 
us are local and external, and not skin deep, and, along 
329 



The Compromises of Life 

with this lesson, to reawaken in all hearts Decatur's 
ringing words: 

"Our country — may she be ever in the right — ^but, 
right or wrong, our country!" 



330 



FRANCIS SCOTT KEY* 

The Key Monument Association, to which is due the 
act of tardy justice whose completion we are here to 
celebrate, has reason to be proud of the success which 
has crowned its labor of love. Within something less 
than four years from the date of its organization, it has 
reared this beautiful and imposing memorial to the 
author of "The Star-Spangled Banner." Beneath it lie 
the mortal remains of Francis Scott Key, and of his 
wife, Mary Tayloe Key. Hitherto unmarked, except in 
the humblest way, their final resting-place on earth has 
been at last separated from among the surrounding mul- 
titude of less-distinguished graves, to be at once an altar 
and a shrine, known among men, wherever liberty 
makes her home, and consecrate to all hearts wherein 
the love of liberty dwells. 

One cannot help thinking it something more than a 
coincidence that this monument is erected, and that 
these services are held, at a moment when not alone is 

* Delivered at the dedication of the monument over the grave of the 
author of '• The Star-Spangled Banner," Frederick, Md., Tuesday, August 
9, 1898. 



The Compromises of Life 

the country engaged In foreign war, but also at a mo- 
ment when the words of Key's immortal anthem ring 
in the memory and start to the lips of all the people of 
all the States and sections of the Union. But a little 
while ago this seemed a thing impossible of realization 
during the life of the generation of men which is pass- 
ing away. Years of embittered civil strife, with their 
wounds kept open by years of succeeding political con- 
troversy, were never before thus ended ; nor did ever a 
people so promptly obey the laws alike of reason, race, 
and nature, from which, as from some magic fountain, 
the American Republic sprang. 

Nothing in romance, or in poetry, surpasses the won- 
drous story of this Republic. Why Washington, the 
Virginia planter, and why Franklin, the Pennsylvania 
printer? Another might have been chosen to lead the 
Continental armies: a brilliant and distinguished sol- 
dier; but, as we now know, not only a corrupt adven- 
turer, but a traitor, who preceded Arnold, and who, had 
he been commander of the forces at Valley Forge, would 
have betrayed his adopted country for the coronet which 
Washington despised. In many ways was Franklin an 
experiment, and, as his familiars might have thought, a 
dangerous experiment, to be appointed the representa- 
tive of the colonies in London and in Paris, for, as they 
knew, and as we now know, he was a stalwart, self- 
indulgent man, apparently little given either to pru- 
dence or to courtliness. What was it that singled out 
332 



Francis Scott Key 

these two men from all others and designated them to be 
the chiefs of the military and diplomatic establishments 
set up by the provincial gentlemen whose Declaration 
of Independence was not merely to establish a new na- 
tion but to create a new world ? It was as clearly the 
inspiration of the Almighty as, a century later, was the 
faith of Lincoln in Grant, whom he had never seen and 
had reason to distrust. It was as clearly the inspiration 
of the Almighty as that, in every turn of fortune, God 
has stood by the Republic ; not less in the strange vicissi- 
tudes of the Wars of the Revolution and of 1812, than 
in those of the war of sections ; in the raising up of Paul 
Jones and Perry, of Preble and Hull, when, discouraged 
upon the land, the sea was to send God's people mes- 
sages of victory, and in the striking down of Albert Sid- 
ney Johnston and Stonewall Jackson, when they were 
sweeping all before them. Inscrutable are the ways of 
Providence to man. Philosophers may argue as they 
will, and rationalism may draw its conclusions ; but the 
mysterious power unexplained by either has, from the 
beginning of time, ruled the destinies of men. 

Back of these forces of life and thought there is yet 
another force equally inspired of God and equally essen- 
tial to the exaltation of man, a force without which the 
world does not move except downward, the force of the 
imagination which idealizes the deeds of men and trans- 
lates their meaning into words. It may be concluded 
that Washington at Monmouth and Franklin at Ver- 
333 



The Compromises of Life 

sailles were not thinking a great deal of what the world 
was like to say. But there are beings so constituted 
that they cannot act, they can only think, and these are 
the Homers who relate in heroic measure, the Shake- 
speares who sing in strains of heavenly music. Among 
the progeny of these was Francis Scott Key. 

The son of a Revolutionary soldier, he was born 
August 9, 1780, not far away from the spot where we 
are now assembled, and died in Baltimore January 11, 
1843. His life of nearly sixty-three years was an un- 
broken idyl of tranquil happiness; amid congenial 
scenes ; among kindred people ; blessed by wedded love 
and many children, and accompanied by the successful 
pursuit of the learned profession he had chosen for him- 
self. Goldsmith's sketch of the village preacher may 
not be inaptly quoted to describe his unambitious and 
unobtrusive career : 



"Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place." 



Yet It was reserved for this constant and modest gen- 
tleman to leave behind him a priceless legacy to his 
countrymen and to identify his name for all time with 
his country's flag. 

"The Star-Spangled Banner" owed very little to 
chance. It was the emanation of a patriotic fervor as 
sincere and natural as it was simple and noble. It 
334 



Francis Scott Key 

sprang from one of those glorious inspirations which, 
coming to an author unbidden, seizes at once upon the 
hearts and minds of men. The occasion seemed to have 
been created for the very purpose. The man and the 
hour were met, and the song came ; and truly was song 
never yet born amid such scenes. We explore the pages 
of folk-lore, we read the story of popular music, in vain, 
to find the like. Even the authorship of the English 
national anthem is in dispute. The "Marseillaise" did, 
indeed, owe its being to the passions of war, and burst 
forth in profuse strains of melody above the clang of 
arms ; but it was attended by those theatrical accessories 
which preside over and minister to Latin emotion, and 
seem indispensable to its developments, and it is believed 
to have derived as much of its enthusiasm from the 
wine-cup as from the drum-beat. Key's song was the 
very child of battle. It was rocked by cannon in the 
cradle of the deep. Its swaddling clothes were the 
Stars and Stripes its birth proclaimed. Its coming was 
heralded by shot and shell, and, from its baptism of 
fire, a nation of freemen clasped it to its bosom. It 
was to be thenceforth and forever freedom's Gloria 
in Excelsis. 

The circumstances which ushered it into the world, 
hardly less than the words of the poem, are full of 
patriotic exhilaration. It was during the darkest days 
of our second war of independence. An English army 
had invaded and occupied the seat of the National Gov- 
335 



The Compromises of Life 

ernment and had burned the Capitol of the nation. An 
English squadron was in undisputed possession of the 
Chesapeake Bay. There being nothing of interest or 
value left within the vicinity of Washington to detain 
them, the British were massing their land and naval 
forces for other conquests, and, as their ships sailed 
down the Potomac, Dr. William Beanes, a prominent 
citizen of Maryland, who had been arrested at his home 
in Upper Marlboro, charged with some offence, real or 
fancied, was carried off a prisoner. 

It was to secure the liberation of this gentleman, his 
neighbor and friend, that Francis Scott Key obtained 
leave of the President to go to the British Admiral un- 
der a flag of truce. He was conveyed by the cartel-boat 
used for the exchange of prisoners and accompanied by 
the flag officer of the Government. They proceeded 
down the bay from Baltimore and found the British 
fleet at the mouth of the Potomac. 

Mr. Key was courteously received by Admiral Coch- 
rane ; but he was not encouraged as to the success of his 
mission until letters from the English officers wounded 
at Blandensburg and left in the care of the Americans 
were delivered to the friends on the fleet to whom they 
had been written. These bore such testimony to the 
kindness with which they had been treated that it was 
finally agreed that Dr. Beanes should be released ; but, 
as an advance upon Baltimore was about to be made, it 
was required that the party of Americans should remain 
336 



Francis Scott Key 

under guard on board their own vessel until these oper- 
ations were concluded. Thus it was that, the night of 
September 14, 18 14, Key witnessed the bombardment of 
Fort McHenry, which his song was to render illus- 
trious. 

He did not quit the deck the long night through. 
With his single companion, the flag officer, he watched 
every shell from the moment it was fired until it fell, 
"listening with breathless interest to hear if an explo- 
sion followed." While the cannonading continued 
they needed no further assurance that their countrymen 
had not capitulated. *'But," I quote the words of Chief 
Justice Taney, repeating the account given him by Key 
immediately after, "it suddenly ceased some time before 
day ; and, as they had no communication with any of the 
enemy's ships, they did not know whether the fort had 
surrendered, or the attack upon it had been abandoned. 
They paced the deck the residue of the night in painful 
suspense, watching with intense anxiety for the return 
of day, and looking every few minutes at their watches 
to see how long they must wait for it ,* and, as soon as it 
dawned and before it was light enough to see objects at 
a distance, their glasses were turned to the fort, uncer- 
tain whether they should see there the Stars and Stripes 
or the flag of the enemy." Blessed vigil! that its 
prayers were not in vain ; glorious vigil ! that it gave us 
"The Star-Spangled Banner"! 

During the night the conception of the poem began to 
337 



The Compromises of Life 

form itself in Key's mind. With the early glow of the 
morning, when the long agony of suspense had been 
turned into the rapture of exultation, his feeling found 
expression in completed lines of verse, which he wrote 
upon the back of a letter he happened to have in his pos- 
session. He finished the piece on the boat that carried 
him ashore and wrote out a clear copy that same evening 
at his hotel in Baltimore. Next day he read this to his 
friend and kinsman. Judge Nicholson, who was so 
pleased with it that he carried it to the office of the Bal- 
timore American, where it was put in type by a young 
apprentice, Samuel Sands by name, and thence issued as 
a broadside. Within an hour after it was circulating 
all over the city, hailed with delight by the excited peo- 
ple. Published in the succeeding issue of the American, 
and elsewhere reprinted, it went straight to the popular 
heart. It was quickly seized for musical adaptation. 
First sung in a tavern adjoining the Holliday Street 
Theatre in Baltimore, by Charles Durang, an actor, 
whose brother, Ferdinand Durang, had set it to an old 
air, its production on the stage of that theatre was the 
occasion of spontaneous and unbounded enthusiasm. 
Wherever it was heard its effect was electrical, and 
thenceforward it was universally accepted as the na- 
tional anthem. 

The poem tells its own story, and never a truer, for 
every word comes direct from a great heroic soul, pow- 
der-stained and dipped, as it were, in sacred blood. 
338 



Francis Scott Key 

"O, say, can you see by the dawn's early light 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last 
gleaming, 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the per- 
ilous fight. 
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly 
streaming!" 

The two that walked the deck of the cartel-boat had 
waited long. They had counted the hours as they 
watched the course of the battle. But a deeper anxiety 
yet is to possess them. The firing has ceased. Ominous 
silence! While cannon roared they knew that the fort 
held out. While the sky was lit by messengers of death 
they could see the national colors flying above it. 

— "the rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 
there." 

But there comes an end at last to waiting and watch- 
ing; and as the first rays of the sun shoot above the 
horizon and gild the eastern shore, behold the sight that 
gladdens their eyes as it — 

— * 'catches the gleam of the morning's first beam. 
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream," 

for there, over the battlements of McHenry, the Stars 
and Stripes float defiant on the breeze, while all around 
evidences multiply that the attack has failed, that the 
Americans have successfully resisted it, and that the 
339 



The Compromises of Life 

British are withdrawing their forces. For then, and 
for now, and for all time, come the words of the an- 
them — 

"Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and the war's desola- 
tion! 
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued 
land 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a 
nation!" 

for— 

— "conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 

And this be our motto, 'In God is our trust' ; 

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" 

The Star-Spangled Banner! Was ever flag so beau- 
tiful, did ever flag so fill the souls of men ? The love of 
woman; the sense of duty; the thirst for glory; the 
heart-throbbing that impels the humblest American to 
stand by his colors fearless in the defence of his native 
soil and holding it sweet to die for it — the yearning 
which draws him to it when exiled from it — its free 
institutions and its blessed memories, all are embodied 
and symbolized by the broad stripes and bright stars of 
the nation's emblem, all live again in the lines and tones 
of Key's anthem. Two or three began the song, mill- 
Ions join the chorus. They are singing it in Porto 
Rican trenches and on the ramparts of Santiago, and its 
340 



Francis Scott Key 

echoes, borne upon the wings of morning, come rolling 
back from far-away Manila; the soldier's message to 
the soldier ; the hero's shibboleth In battle ; the patriot's 
solace In death ! Even to the lazy sons of peace who lag 
at home — the pleasure-seekers whose merry-making 
turns the night to day — those stirring strains come as a 
sudden trumpet-call, and, above the sounds of revelry, 
subjugate for the moment to a stronger power, rises 
wave upon wave of melodious resonance, the Idler's aim- 
less but heartfelt tribute to his country and his country's 
flag. 

Since "The Star-Spangled Banner" was written 
nearly a century has come and gone. The drums and 
trampllngs of more than half Its years have passed over 
the grave of Francis Scott Key. Here at last he rests 
forever. Here at last his tomb Is fitly made. When his 
eyes closed upon the scenes of this life their last gaze 
beheld the ensign of the Republic "full-high advanced, 
its arms and trophies streaming In their original lustre, 
not a stripe erased or polluted nor a single star ob- 
scured." If happily they were spared the spectacle of a 
severed Union, and "a land rent by civil feud and 
drenched In fraternal blood," it may be that somewhere 
beyond the stars his gentle spirit now looks down upon a 
nation awakened from Its sleep of death and restored to 
its greater and Its better self, and known and honored, 
as never before throughout the world. While Key 
lived there was but a single paramount Issue, about 
341 



The Compromises of Life 

which all other issues circled, the Constitution and the 
Union. The problems of the Constitution and the 
Union solved, the past secure, turn we to the future ; no 
longer a huddle of petty sovereignties, held together by 
a rope of sand, no longer a body of mercenary shopkeep- 
ers worshipping rather the brand upon the dollar than 
the eagle on the shield ; no longer a brood of provincial 
laggards, hanging with bated breath upon the move- 
ments of mankind, afraid to trust themselves away from 
home, or to put their principles to the test of progress 
and of arms ; but a nation, and a leader of nations ; a 
world-power which durst face imperialism upon its own 
ground with Republicanism, and with it dispute the 
future of civilization. It is the will of God; let not 
man gainsay. Let not man gainsay until the word of 
God has been carried to the furthermost ends of the 
earth; not until freedom is the heritage of all His 
creatures; not until the blessings which He has given 
us are shared by His people in all lands ; not until Latin 
licentiousness fostered by modern wealth and culture 
and art, has been expiated by fire, and Latin corruption 
and cruelty have disappeared from the government of 
men ; not until that sober-suited Anglo-Saxonism, which 
born at Runnymede, was to end neither at Yorktown 
nor at Appomattox, has made, at one and the same time, 
another map of Christendom and a new race of Chris- 
tians and yeomen, equally soldiers of the sword and of 
the cross, even in Africa and in Asia, as we have made 
342 



Francis Scott Key 

them here in America. Thus, and thus alone, and 
wherever the winds of Heaven blow, shall fly the spirit 
if not the actuality of the blessed symbol we have come 
here this day to glorify; ashamed of nothing that God 
has sent, ready for everything that God may send ! It 
was not a singer of the fireside, but a hearthless wan- 
derer, who put in all hearts the Anglo-Saxon's simple 
"Home, Sweet Home." It was a poet, not a warrior, 
who gave to our Union the Anglo-American's homage 
to his flag. Even as the Prince of Peace who came to 
bring eternal life was the Son of God, were these His 
ministering angels; and, as each of us, upon his knees, 
sends up a prayer to Heaven for "Home, Sweet Home," 
may he also murmur, and teach his children to lisp, the 
sublime refrain of Key's immortal anthem — 

"And the star-spangled banner, oh, long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!'* 



343 



"GOD'S PROMISE REDEEMED"* 

The duty which draws us together, and the day — al- 
though appointed by law — come to us laden by a deeper 
meaning than they have ever borne before ; and the place 
which witnesses our coming invests the occasion with 
increased solemnity and significance. Within the pre- 
cincts of this dread but beautiful city — consecrate in all 
our hearts and homes — for here lie our loved ones — two 
plots of ground, with but a hillock between, have been 
set aside to mark the resting-place of the dead of two 
armies that in life were called, hostile, the Army of the 
Union, the Army of the Confederacy. We come to 
decorate the graves of those who died fighting for the 
Union. Presently others shall come to decorate the 
graves of those who died fighting for the Confederacy. 
Yet, if these flower-covered mounds could open and the 
brave men who inhabit them could rise, not as disem- 
bodied spirits, but in the sentient flesh and blood which 
they wore when they went hence, they would rejoice as 
we do that the hopes of both have been at last fulfilled, 
and that the Confederacy, swallowed up by the Union, 

* Address delivered in the Union Division of Cave Hill Cemetery, 
Louisville, Decoration Day, May 30, 1899. 

344 



God's Promise Redeemed 

lives again in American manhood and brotherhood, such 
as were contemplated by the makers of the Republic. 

To those of us who were the comrades and contem- 
poraries of the dead that are buried here, who survived 
the ordeal of battle, and who live to bless the day, there 
is nothing either strange or unnatural in this, because 
we have seen it coming for a long time ; we have seen it 
coming in the kinship of ties even as close as those of a 
common country ; in the robust intercourse of the forum 
and the market-place ; in the sacred interchanges of the 
domestic affections; but, above all, in the prattle of 
children who cannot distinguish between the grand- 
father who wore the blue and the grandfather who wore 
the gray. 

It is required of no man — whichever flag he served 
under — that he make any renunciation shameful to him- 
self, and therefore dishonoring to these grandchildren, 
and each may safely leave to history the casting of the 
balance between antagonistic schools of thought and op- 
posing camps in action, where the essentials of fidelity 
and courage were so amply met. Nor is it the part of 
wisdom to regret a tale that is told. The issues that 
evoked the strife of sections are dead issues. The con- 
flict, which was thought to be irreconcilable and was 
certainly inevitable, ended more than thirty years ago. 
It was fought to its bloody conclusion by fearless and 
honest men. To some the result was logical — to others 
it was disappointing — to all it was final. As no man 
345 



The Compromises of Life 

disputes It, let no man deplore it. Let us the rather be- 
lieve that it was needful to make us a nation. Let us 
rather look upon it as into a mirror, seeing not the deso- 
lation of the past, but the radiance of the future; and 
TO the heroes of the New North and the New South 
who contested in generous rivalry up the fire-swept 
steep of El Caney, and side by side re-emblazoned the 
national character in the waters about Corregidor Isl- 
and and under the walls of Cavite, let us behold host- 
ages for the old North and the old South blent together 
in a Union that knows neither point of the compass and 
has flung its geography into the sea. 

Great as were the issues we have put behind us for- 
ever, yet greater issues still rise dimly upon the view. 

Who shall fathom them ? Who shall forecast them ? 
I seek not to lift the veil on what may lie beyond. It 
is enough for me to know that I have a country and that 
my country leads the world. I have lived to look upon 
Its dismembered fragments whole again; to see It, like 
the fabled bird of wondrous plumage upon the Arabian 
desert, slowly shape itself above the flames and ashes of 
a conflagration that threatened to devour it; I have 
watched it gradually unfold its magnificent proportions 
through alternating tracks of light and shade; I have 
stood in awe-struck wonder and fear lest the glorious 
fabric should fade into darkness and prove but the in^ 
substantial pageant of a vision; when, lo, out of the 
misty depths of the far-away Pacific came the booming 
346 



God's Promise Redeemed 

of Dewey's guns, quickly followed by the answering 
voice of the guns of Sampson and Shafter and Schley, 
and I said : "It is not a dream. It is God's promise re- 
deemed. With the night of sectional confusion that is 
gone, civil strife has passed from the scene, and, in the 
light of the perfect day that is come, the nation finds, 
as the first-fruit of its new birth of freedom, another 
birth of greatness and power and renown." 

Fully realizing the responsibilities of this, and the 
duties that belong to it, I, for one, accept it, and all that 
it brings with it and implies, thankful that I, too, am an 
American. Wheresoever its star may lead, I shall fol- 
low; nothing loath, or doubting; though it guide the 
nation's footsteps to the furthermost ends of the earth. 
Believing that in the creation and the preservation of 
the American Union the hand of the Almighty has ap- 
peared from first to last ; that His will begat it, and that 
His word has prevailed ; that in the War of the Revolu- 
tion and in the Civil War the incidents and accidents 
of battle left no doubt where Providence inclined ; if the 
star that now shines over us, at once a signet of God's 
plan and purpose and a Heaven-sent courier of civiliza- 
tion and religion, shall fix itself above the steppes of 
Asia and the sands of Africa, it shall but confirm me in 
my faith that "the judgments of the Lord are true and 
righteous altogether." 



347 



THE MAN IN GRAY* 

There are two things which we alternate in stigma- 
tizing and cultivating, which we habitually condemn in 
our speech and display in our actions. Briefly stated, 
they are sectionalism and partyism. Considering the 
roles they have played in our affairs, they might be mis- 
taken for attributes of the genius and policy of a free 
people occupying a territory of considerable extent. 
They cast their shadow over the American Revolution. 
They obstructed the making of the Constitution. They 
plunged the North and the South into a long and bloody 
war. Neither are they limited to the points of the 
compass, nor confined to political organism; for we 
feel the force of geographic lines in the subdivision of 
States and cities, and we encounter party spirit even in 
our churches and charities. They seem inherent to 
our nature, inseparable from our condition. Instead of 
seeking to uproot them, we should the rather strive to 
moderate their excess and to bring them within the 
bounds of reason; remembering that the bed-rock of 

*A response to the toast ''Our Coming Guest — the Man in Gray," 
annual banquet of the First Christian Church in Louisville, January 22, 
1901. 

348 



The Man in Gray 

worldly wisdom lies at the bottom of the well of good- 
sense and good-feeling, whence the best men and women 
are supplied with passion-quenching draughts for the 
better conduct of life. Save for this, we should be little 
better than beasts of prey. 

There was a time when the neighbor and friend who 
has just taken his seat, and who has spoken so eloquently 
of a flag which we both adore — there was a time when 
he looked askance upon a gray coat as I upon a blue one 
— ^and it may be that there are matters about which we 
agree no nearer now than we did then ; but I can truly 
say to him, and to you, that there has never been a time, 
when, the combat ended, I could not take my brother by 
the hand ; if wounded, to lift him to his feet ; if victor — 
in case he held it out to me — still to take it, thankful 
for the grace that offered it. 

I am asked to say something about **our coming guest 
— the man in gray." There is not so many of him now 
as there was ; but, few or many, he shall find such wel- 
come, when he gets here, as the waves found when 
navies were stranded. He is not as young as he was; 
and therefore we shall not wait for him to discover the 
latch-string that hangs outside the door, but shall set 
picket-lines of greeting and acclaim even from the re- 
doubts of the Reservoir to the oven-pits of Fountain 
Ferry — so that none may escape^ — and, if need be, we 
may send forth reconnoitring parties to scour the woods 
and to bring him into camp. 
349 



The Compromises of Life 

I stand here to-night, with a blue coat, as it were, 
upon my back, the Stars and Stripes in my hand, and in 
my heart the most abiding love of the Union and all 
that it embraces and implies, to vindicate the Confed- 
eracy; to maintain and defend the reason of its being; 
and to show that, under God and through it, the Re- 
public has reached its full stature as a nation, and, along 
with it, its promised new birth of freedom. 

I shall begin by saying that, with a gray coat actually 
upon my back, I did not believe either in the gospel of 
slavery or in the doctrine of secession. In common 
with hundreds of thousands of Southern men, I clung 
to the Union until the last hope of a peaceful solution 
of the issues in dispute was gone. The debate over, 
war at hand, I went with my own people, the people 
from whom I was sprung and with whom I had been 
reared, the people of Tennessee. Strong as had been 
the Union sentiment, sectional sentiment was stronger 
still. We did not stop to inquire whether, as to the 
political questions involved, we were either consistent 
or justified. I think, after nearly forty years of inter- 
vening reflection and observation, and some additional 
research, that, if we had wanted justification, we might 
have found it in a long line of what I now regard as a 
most plausible, if not a very attractive argument in 
favor of the right of a State to withdraw at its own will 
from the Union, beginning with Josiah Quincy, and his 
associates, in New England, and ending with Jefferson 
350 



The Man in Gray 

Davis, and his associates, in the Gulf States of the 
South. The framers of the Constitution found them- 
selves unable clearly to determine this point. So they 
left it open. After fifty years of contention — compli- 
cated by the irrepressible question of slavery carried to 
the ultimate of the irreconcilable^ — the well-intentioned 
omission of the fathers to fix the exact relation of the 
States to the Federal Government precipitated the two 
sections of the Union into war; and out of this war — 
although we did not see it at the time — we emerged 
more homogeneous as a people and better equipped as a 
nation than we had ever been before. 

We of the South at least builded wiser than we 
knew ; and, if the nation's might and glory to-day be not 
in some sort a vindication of the Confederacy — without 
which they could hardly have come to their fruition — 
what shall we say about the providence of God? In 
truth, He doeth all things well. Two hundred and 
fifty years ago there arrived at the front of affairs in 
England one Cromwell. In the midst of monarchy he 
made a republic. It had no progenitor. It left no 
heirs-at-law. It was succeeded, as it had been preceded, 
by a line of monarchs. But from the commonwealth of 
Cromwell date the confirmation and the consolidation 
of the principles of liberty wrung by the barons from 
their unwilling King. From the commonwealth of 
Cromwell date the grandeur and the power of the Eng- 
lish fabric, the enlightened and progressive conservatism 
351 



The Compromises of Life 

of the English constitution, the sturdy independence of 
the English people. Why such cost of blood and treas- 
ure for an interval of freedom so equivocal and brief 
puzzled the wisest men ; remained for ages a mystery ; 
though it is plain enough now and was long ago con- 
ceded; so that at last — dire rebel though he was — the 
name of Cromwell, held in execration through two cen- 
turies, has a place in the history of the English-speaking 
race along with the names of William the Conqueror 
and Richard of the Lion Heart. 

That which it took England two centuries to realize 
we in America have demonstrated within a single gen- 
eration. When Worth Bagley gave up that fair young 
life for his country at Cardenas, and Hobson, taking 
death-orders from Sampson, plunged headlong into the 
mouth of hell at Santiago; when, peril waiting on every 
footstep, Victor Blue traversed the wilds of Puerto 
Rico, and Brumby, Intrepid as his great commander, 
stood upon the bridge with Dewey at Manila, then and 
there God gave the world a reason why the South was 
not wholly blighted; pouring a flood of light upon 
the genius of Lee and Jackson, of Johnston and of 
Beauregard, and upon the courage and endurance 
of the men who followed them. I seek to penetrate 
no further. 

To me, the politics of the Confederacy reads like a 
myth of the Middle Ages. Secession is gone. Slavery 
is gone. That which remains to us is the memory of 
352 



The Man in Gray 

its self-sacrificing heroism ; its splendid valor ; its glori- 
ous examples of the manhood and womanhood of our 
race ; a heritage no less to the North than to the South ; 
the common property of all the people of the American 
Union. 

He will come, this man in gray, a little bent by years, 
it may be, but erect in the consciousness of his own in- 
tegrity. He will come, on crutches it may be, but ask- 
ing nothing except the recognition of the rectitude of 
his intentions and the disinterestedness of his service. 
The drum-beat to arms — the bugle-call to battle — are 
but echoes of a past that lies behind him ; shared equally 
with him by those who fought against him ; to live again 
in their children and their children's children forever 
united beneath the flag of their country. We have had 
the supreme felicity of entertaining here the Grand 
Army of the Republic. We shall not soon forget the 
outpouring of enthusiasm upon that memorable and joy- 
ous occasion. The coming of the man in gray will be 
no less memorable and no less joyous; for it will bring 
with it the same outpouring of popular and patriotic 
sentiment; the same profuse display of bunting, the 
bonny blue flag entwined in the folds of the red, white, 
and blue; the same delightful din of martial and na- 
tional music, the strains of "Dixie" and "Marching 
Through Georgia," making counterpoints upon the 
pealing anthem of "The Star-Spangled Banner," and 
blazing in all hearts and over every threshold those 
353 



The Compromises of Life 

stirring words dear equally to Southern and to North- 
ern men : 



"The Union of lakes, the Union of lands, 
The Union of States none can sever; 
The Union of hearts, the Union of hands, 
And the flag of our Union forever!" 

With those strains ringing in my ear, I am ready to 
go to my account. There was a time when I lay awake 
and paced the floor in a kind of anguish; when, amid 
sectional rancor and party rage, it seemed that judgment 
and patriotism had fled to brutish beasts and men had 
lost their reason ; when personal liberty hung in the bal- 
ance, and, amid the storm-clouds upon the Southern 
horizon there loomed another Poland, there lowered an- 
other Ireland, preparing to repeat upon the soil of the 
New World the mistakes of the old, and actually to rob 
us of the Heaven-sent institutes of freedom. The hand 
of the South w^as in the lion's mouth, and my one hope, 
my only politics, was to placate the lion. I have lived 
to see the lion lie down with the lamb, and I ask no 
more; I would go no further. Younger men may lose 
their sleep and pace the floor ; for now, as ever, eternal 
vigilance is the price of good government; but me, I 
tweak no beak among them. Secure of the past, I have 
no fear of the future. We move upon the ascending, 
not the descending, scale of national development. The 
torch-bearer of religion, the sword-and-buckler of free- 
354 



The Man in Gray 

dom, we are the avatar of the civilization of the modern 
world ; and we go to all lands, while the stars in their 
courses fight for us, and God upon His everlasting 
throne directs the battle and the march ! 



355 



"HEROES IN HOMESPUN"* 

Travelling from out the twilight of the past into 
the radiance of the present, and tracing as we go the 
history of the country along the glorious but rugged 
route of battle-fields by the glare of fagot-flame and 
rifle-flash, it seems ages since Tippecanoe; since Har- 
rison and his hunting-shirts met and vanquished the 
hordes of the two Tecumsehs; yet are there men still 
living, and here to-day, who, if they were not con- 
temporary with the event and its valiants, can distinctly 
recall the spirit of those times; the aspects, the very 
familiar features, of those valiants; the atmosphere, 
the form, and body of an epoch, when, from Faneuil 
Hall in Boston, from Raleigh Tavern in Virginia, to 
Fort Wayne and old Vincennes upon the confines of 
this borderland, the redskin and the redc^oat alike 
stirred to its depths the heart of the young Republic, 

There were giants in those days ; and there was need 
that there should be. No vestibuled trains, nor pal- 
ace coaches waited to fetch them hither; no noisy pro- 
cession, with banners waving and brass bands playing, 
marched forth to honor their arrival. They jour- 

* Address in commemoration of Harrison and his men, Tippecanoe 
battle-field, Sunday, June 15, 1902. 

356 



Heroes in Homespun 

neyed for the most part afoot. They picked their way 
through trackless canebrake and wooded waste, across 
swift-running, bridgeless streams, their flint-locks their 
commissariat. They had quitted what they regarded 
as the overcrowded centres of the populous East to 
seek the lonely but roomier wilds of the far West, 
keenly alive to the idea of bettering their condition, 
having a fine sense of pure air and arable land — it may 
be for town sites ; but their hearts beat true to the prin- 
ciples of civil and religious liberty, and they brought 
with them two accoutrements of priceless value; the 
new-made Constitution of their country and the well- 
worn family Bible; for they were God-fearing, Chris- 
tian soldiers; heroes in homespun as chivalric and un- 
doubting as mailed Knights of the Cross; hating with 
holy hate the Indians and the British; revering the 
memory of the patriots and sages who had made the 
Declaration of Independence, warm with the blood of 
the Revolution, the echoes of Lexington and Bunker 
Hill, of King's Mountain and Yorktown still ringing 
in their ears. 

I dare say their descendants are equally capable of 
sacrifices. But It is not of ourselves that we are here 
to speak. It is to commemorate the slain who lie here 
and hereabout ; to keep their deeds and their worth for 
long aye green; to confess the debt we owe them; to 
garland their graves. If, In paying this homage from 
the living to the dead, we rekindle within us the spirit 
357 



The Compromises of Life 

of the dead, we shall with each annual recurrence of 
the day the surer approve our coming and grow bet- 
ter as we come. 

Our lot has been cast in easier times, has been laid 
on broader, larger lines. We live in an age of mira- 
cles. We gather the fruit of the tree which these, our 
forefathers, planted. From the ashes of their camp- 
fires rise the school-house and the court-house. The 
church marks the spot where the block-house stood. 
The war-whoop of the savage is succeeded by the 
neigh of the iron-horse, the gleam of the tomahawk by 
the flare of the electric lamp. Danger of the kind 
that was their daily, hourly companion is to us un- 
known. Privation such as they sustained assails not 
honest toil, however humble. Wealth and luxury 
wait attendant upon thrift and skill. Primogeniture 
no longer cheats merit of its due. Entail no longer 
usurps the present and puts its mortgage on the fut- 
ure. Opportunity and peace and order and law are 
the portion of the poorest. Struck by the wizard hand 
of Progress, the sleeping beauty. Solitude, has awak- 
ened a Metropolis; touched by the finger of modern 
invention, the prairie and the forest, as by enchant- 
ment, have revealed their secrets and poured their 
riches into the lap of labor. Upon the loose cobble- 
stones of what was but a huddle of small provinces, 
each claiming for itself a squalid sovereignty and held 
together by a rope of sand, rises proudly, grandly, se- 

358 



Heroes in Homespun 

curely a Nation built upon the firm foundations of 
an indissoluble compact of States, cemented forever by 
the blood of a patriotic, brave, homogeneous people. 
The bucolic Republic of Washington and Franklin, 
the sylvan idyl of Jefferson — the Government which 
equally at home and abroad had from the first to fight 
for its existence — is a world power; and to the pres- 
ent generation of Americans these things have come 
without any effort of their own; as a rich inheritance, 
which for good, or for evil, they are but beginning to 
administer and enjoy. I pray them well to weigh its 
responsibilities; deeply to ponder the changes wrought 
by a century of acquisition and development; prayer- 
fully to consider the exceptional conditions and the 
peculiar perils of the present as these distinguish the 
present from the past; bearing in mind the truth that 
now, as ever, eternal vigilance is the price, not alone 
of liberty, but of all the better ends of life. 

Ours is a Government resting on public opinion. 
Each man is his own master. He can blame nobody 
but himself if he goes astray. Has not the telegraph 
annihilated time and space? Does not the daily news- 
paper bring him each day the completed history of yes- 
terday ? Is he not able to read, to mark, and inwardly 
to digest the signs of the times? With these helps, 
why should he not be able to reach intelligent and just 
conclusions ? 

It is largely, that all men do not think alike. The 
359 



The Compromises of Life 

same fact will receive different interpretations from 
differing minds. There are conflicts of statement. 
Even the press is not infallible. We group ourselves 
in parties; and, as with our watches, each believes his 
own. Thus the ship of state is blown hither and yon 
by the trade-winds of public opinion. Yet, somehow, 
it has sailed triumphant; the struggle for freedom; the 
struggle for union ; the foreign war ; the domestic war ; 
the disputed succession, these it has survived; until, at 
last, it has to face the most serious peril of all in that 
excess of grandeur and power which crowns a century 
of marvellous achievement. 

We have become a nation of merchant princes. 
Money is so abundant that men are giving it away in 
sums of startling magnitude. It seems so easy to get 
that men are on system putting it in the way of a kind 
of redistribution back to the sources whence it origi- 
nally came. Shall we see the day when it will no 
longer corrupt? If familiarity breeds contempt, we 
surely shall. The earth's surface appears to be but an 
incrustation over one vast mine of gold and silver and 
precious stones. Life is a lottery, with more prizes 
than blanks. But, in a land where there are no titles 
or patents of nobility, money is bound to serve as the 
standard of measurement; and, precisely as Constitu- 
tional Government, political and religious freedom, 
were uppermost in the minds and hearts of the pio- 
neers who sleep here, is the acquisition of wealth up- 
360 



Heroes in Homespun 

permost in the minds and hearts of their sons and 
grandsons. In other words, as I have elsewhere put 
it, the idiosyncrasy of the nineteenth century was Lib- 
erty; the idiosyncrasy of the twentieth century is 
Markets. The problem before us, therefore, involves 
the adjustment of these two; the reconciliation of cap- 
ital and labor, of morality and dollars, the concurrent 
expansion of the principles of the Constitution and the 
requirements of commerce. It is of good augury that 
both our two great parties claim the same objective 
point; and, as I do not doubt that we are on the as- 
cending, not the descending scale of national develop- 
ment, with centuries of greatness and glory before us, 
I shall continue, as is my duty, to discuss my own par- 
ticular horn of the dilemma, sure that in the end truth 
will be vindicated and the flag of our country exalted. 
To these ends, whatever our political belongings 
and affiliations, let each of us here to-day resolve faith- 
fully to address himself. Party spirit, held within the 
bounds of reason, restrained by good sense and good 
feeling, is an excellent thing. It is of the essence of 
our Republican being. I can truly say that I have 
never loved any man less because he did not agree with 
me; and, though I chide him for his perversity, I re- 
spect his right. The bed-rock of civil and religious 
liberty is the law; the bell-tower of freedom is toler- 
ance. The mute inhabitants of these swelling mounds, 
could they speak, would tell us that it were little worth 
361 



The Compromises of Life 

the toil and travail endured by them when, amid these 
greenwood shades, they sought and found emancipa- 
tion from ages of feudal wrong, if, overflowing with 
prosperity, bustling with pride, we should forget the 
lesson and dissipate the heritage; repeating, under the 
pretentious nomenclature of Democracy, the dismal 
story of Greece and Rome. It can never be. We live 
in the twentieth, not in the first of the centuries. 
Though human nature be ever the same, the tale is 
told by human environment, by mortal conditions, and 
we shall the rather go forward than backward; the 
Constitution in one hand, the Bible in the other hand, 
the flag overhead, carrying to all lands and all peoples 
the message alike of Civilization and Religion, the Ark 
and the Covenant of American freedom along with 
the word of God ! 

The hunters of Kentucky, the pioneers of Indiana, 
united as brothers in the bonds of liberty, fought the 
battle of Tippecanoe. It was not a great battle as bat- 
tles go, but it proved mighty in its consequences: the 
winning and the peopling of the West; the ultimate 
rescue of the Union from dissolution; tl\e blazing of 
the way to the Pacific. They were simple, hardy men. 
They set us good examples. They loved their country, 
and were loyal to its institutions. They were comrades 
in hearts and comrades in arms. Be it ours to bless 
and preserve their memory and to perpetuate their 
brotherhood ! 

362 



THE HAMPTON ROADS CONFERENCE* 

Jefferson Davis, than whom there never lived, in 
this or in any land, a nobler gentleman and a knight- 
lier soldier — Jefferson Davis, w^ho, whatever may be 
thought of his opinions and actions, said always what 
he meant and meant always what he said — ^Jefferson 
Davis declared that next after the surrender at Ap- 
pomattox, the murder of Abraham Lincoln made the 
darkest day in the calendar for the South and the 
people of the South. Why? Because Mr. Davis had 
come to a knowledge of the magnanimity of Mr. Lin- 
coln's heart and the generosity of his intentions. 

If Lincoln had lived there would have been no 
Era of Reconstruction, with its repressive agencies and 
oppressive legislation. If Lincoln had lived there 
would have been wanting to the extremism of the time 
the bloody cue of his taking off to mount the steeds 
and spur the flanks of vengeance. For Lincoln enter- 
tained, with respect to the rehabilitation of the Union, 
the single wish that the Southern States — to use his 

* A response to the toast ** To the Memory of Abraham Lincoln,'* 
annual banquet of the Confederate Veteran Camp of the City of New 
York, Waldorf-Astoria, January 26, 1903. 

363 



The Compromises of Life 

homely phraseology — "should come back home and be- 
have themselves," and, if he had lived, he would have 
made this wish effectual, as he made everything effect- 
ual to which he seriously addressed himself. 

His was the genius of common sense. Of perfect 
intellectual aplomb, he sprang from a Virginia pedi- 
gree and was born in Kentucky. He knew all about 
the South, its institutions, its traditions, and its pe- 
culiarities. He was an old-line Whig of the school 
of Henry Clay, with strong emancipation leaning, 
never an abolitionist. "If slavery be not wrong," he 
said, "nothing is wrong," but he also said, and re- 
iterated it time and again, "I have no prejudice against 
the Southern people. They are just what we would 
be in their situation. If slavery did not now exist 
among them they would not introduce it. If it did 
now exist among us, we would not instantly give it 
up." 

From first to last throughout the angry debates 
preceding the war, amid all the passions of the war 
itself, not one vindictive, prescriptive word fell from 
his tongue or pen, while during its progress there 
was scarcely a day when he did not project his great 
personality between some Southern man or woman and 
danger. Yet the South does not know, except as a 
kind of hearsay, that this big-brained, big-souled man 
was a friend, a friend at court, when friends were most 
in need, having the will and the power to rescue it 
364 



The Hampton Roads Conference 

from the wolves of brutality and rapine whom the his- 
tory of all wars tells us the lust of victory, the very 
smell of battle, lures from their hiding to prey upon 
the helpless, the dying, and the dead. But, perusing 
the after-story of those dread days, Jefferson Davis 
knew this, and died doing full justice to the character 
of Abraham Lincoln. 

Considerable discussion has been heard latterly 
touching what did and did not happen upon the occa- 
sion of a famous historic episode known as the Hamp- 
ton Roads Conference, That Mr. Lincoln met and 
conferred with the official representatives of the Con- 
federate Government, led by the Vice-President of the 
Confederate States, when it must have been known to 
him that the Confederacy was nearing the end of Its 
resources, Is sufficient proof of the breadth both of his 
humanity and his patriotism. Yet he went to Fortress 
Monroe prepared not only to make whatever conces- 
sions toward the restoration of union and peace he 
had the lawful authority to make, but to offer some 
concessions which could in the nature of the case go 
no further at that time than his personal assurance. 
His constitutional powers were limited. But he was 
in himself the embodiment of great moral power. 

The story that he offered payment for the slaves — 
so often affirmed and denied — Is In either case but a 
quibble with the actual facts. He could not have 
made such an offer except tentatively, lacking the 

365 



The Compromises of Life 

means to carry it out. He was not given the oppor- 
tunity to make it, because the Confederate commis- 
sioners were under instructions to treat solely on the 
basis of the recognition of the independence of the Con- 
federacy. The conference came to naught. It ended 
where it began. But there is ample evidence that he 
went to Hampton Roads resolved to commit himself 
to that proposition. He did, according to the official 
reports, refer to it in specific terms, having already 
formulated a plan of procedure. This plan requires 
no verification. It exists, and may be seen in his own 
handwriting. It embraced a joint resolution, to be 
submitted by the President to the two Houses of Con- 
gress, appropriating four hundred millions of dollars, 
to be distributed among the Southern States on the 
basis of the slave population of each according to the 
census of i860, and a proclamation, to be issued by 
himself as President, when this joint resolution had 
been passed by Congo-ess. 

There can be no possible controversy among honest 
students of history on this point. That Mr. Lincoln 
said to Mr. Stephens, "Let me write Union at the top 
of this page and you may write below it whatever else 
you please," is referable to Mr. Stephens's statement 
made to many friends and attested by a number of re- 
liable persons still living. But that he meditated the 
most liberal terms, including payment for the slaves, 
rests neither upon conjecture nor averment, but on in- 
366 



The Hampton Roads Conference 

disputable documentary support. It may be argued 
that he could not have secured the adoption of any such 
plan; but of his purpose, and its genuineness, there can 
be no question, and there ought to be no equivocation. 
Indeed, payment for the slaves had been all along 
in his mind. He believed the North equally guilty 
with the South for the original existence of slavery. 
He clearly understood that the irrepressible conflict 
was a conflict of systems, not a merely sectional and 
partisan quarrel. He was a just man, abhorring pro- 
scription; an old Conscience Whig, indeed, who stood 
in awe of the Constitution and his oath of office. He 
wanted to leave the South no right to claim that the 
North, finding slave labor unremunerative, had sold 
its negroes to the South and then turned about and by 
force of arms confiscated what it had unloaded at a 
profit. He fully recognized slavery as property. The 
proclamation of emancipation was issued as a war 
measure. In his message to Congress of December, 
1862, he proposed payment for the slaves, elaborating 
a scheme in detail and urging it with copious and 
cogent argument. "The people of the South," said 
he, addressing a war Congress at that moment in the 
throes of a bloody war with the South, "are not more 
responsible for the original introduction of this prop- 
erty than are the people of the North, and, when it is 
remembered how unhesitatingly we all use cotton and 
sugar and share the profits of dealing in them, it may 
367 



The Compromises of Life 

not be quite safe to say that the South has been more 
responsible than the North for Its continuance." 

The years are gliding swiftly by. Only a little 
while, and there shall not be one man living who saw 
service on either side of that great struggle of systems 
and ideas. Its passions long ago vanished from manly 
bosoms. That has come to pass within a single gen- 
eration In America which In Europe required ages to 
accomplish. There Is no disputing the verdict of 
events. Let us relate them truly and interpret them 
fairly. If we would have the North do justice to our 
heroes, we must do justice to Its heroes. I here render 
unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, even as I 
would render unto God the things that are God's. 
As living men, standing erect In the presence of 
Heaven and the world, we have grown gray without 
being ashamed; and we need not fear that history will 
fail to vindicate our Integrity. When those are gone 
that fought the battle, and posterity comes to strike 
the final balance-sheet, It will be shown that the 
makers of the Constitution left the relation of the 
States to the Federal Government and of the Federal 
Government to the States open to a double construc- 
tion. It will be told how the mistaken notion that 
slave labor was requisite to the profitable cultivation 
of sugar, rice, and cotton raised a paramount property 
interest In the southern section of the Union, while in 
the northern section, responding to the trend of modern 
368 



The Hampton Roads Conference 

thought and the outer movements of mankind, there 
arose a great moral sentiment against slavery. The 
conflict thus established, gradually but surely section- 
alizing party lines, was as inevitable as it w^as irre- 
pressible. It was fought out to its bitter and logical 
conclusion at Appomattox. It found us a huddle of 
petty sovereignties, held together by a rope of sand. It 
made and it left us a nation. Esto perpetual 



369 



THE IDEAL IN PUBLIC LIFE* 

A virile old friend of mine — he was not a Ken- 
tuckian — he lived in Texas, though he went there 
from Rhode Island — used to declare, with sententious 
emphasis, that war is the state of man. "Sir," he was 
wont to observe, addressing me as if I were personally 
accountable, "you are emasculating the human species. 
You are changing men into women and women into 
men. You are teaching everybody to read, nobody to 
think, and do you know where you will end, sir? Ex- 
termination, sir — extermination! On the north side 
of the North Pole there is another world peopled by 
giants; ten thousand millions at the very least; every 
giant of them a hundred feet high. Now, about the 
time you have reduced your universe to complete 
effeminacy, some fool with a pickaxe will break 
through the thin partition — the mere ice-curtain — sepa- 
rating these giants from us, and then they will sweep 
through and swoop down and swallow you, sir, and the 
likes of you, with your topsy-turvy civilization, your 
boasted literature and science and art!" 

* A response to the toast " The Ideal in Public Life," Emerson Cente- 
nary, Waldorf-Astoria, New York, May 25, 1903. 



The Ideal in Public Life 

This old friend of mine had a sure recipe for suc- 
cess in public life. "Whenever you get up to make a 
speech," said he, "begin by proclaiming yourself the 
purest, the most disinterested of living men, and end 
by intimating that you are the bravest," and then, with 
the charming inconsistency of the dreamer, he would 
add, "If there be anything on this earth that I do hy- 
bominate it is hypocrisy!" 

Decidedly he was not a disciple of Emerson. Yet 
he, too, in his way, was an idealist, and for all his 
oddity a man of intellectual integrity, a trifle exag- 
gerated, perhaps, in its methods and illustrations, but 
true to his convictions of right and duty, as Emerson 
would have him be. For was it not Emerson who ex- 
claimed: "We will walk on our own feet; we will 
work with our own hands; we will speak our own 
minds" ? 

Taking a hint from the whimsies of my archaic 
philosopher, Mr. Chairman, I shall begin by a repudia- 
tion of the sentiment you have just read. There is no 
such thing as the ideal in public life, construing pub- 
lic life to refer to political transactions. The ideal 
may exist in art and letters, and sometimes very young 
men imagine that it exists in very young women. But 
here we must draw the line. As society is constituted 
the ideal has no place, not even standing-room, in the 
arena of civics. If we would make a place for it, we 
must begin by realizing this. The painter, like the 
371 



The Compromises of Life 

lover, is a law unto himself — with his little picture — 
the poet, also with his little poem — his atelier, his uni- 
verse, his barn-yard, his field of battle — his weapons 
the utensils of his craft — he, himself, his own Provi- 
dence. It is not so in the world of action, where 
the conditions are exactly reversed — where the one 
player contends against many players, seen and unseen 
— where each move is met by some counter move — 
where the finest touches are often unnoted of men, or 
rudely blotted out by a mysterious hand stretched forth 
from the darkness. *'I wish I could be as sure of 
anything," said Melbourne, "as Tom Macaulay is 
of everything." Melbourne was a man of affairs, 
Macaulay a man of books ,* and so throughout the cata- 
logue the men of action have been fatalists, from Caesar 
to Napoleon and Bismarck, nothing certain except the 
invisible player behind the screen. 

Thus, of all human contrivances, the most imperfect 
is government. In spite of the essays of Bentham and 
Mill, the science of politics has yet to be discovered. 
The ideal statesman can only exist in an ideal state. 
The politician, like the poor, we have always with us. 
As long as men delegate to other men the function of 
acting for them, if not of thinking for them, we shall 
continue to have him. He is, of course, a variable 
quantity. In the crowded centres of population his 
distinguishing marks are short hair and cunning; upon 
the confines, sentiment and the six-shooter! In New 
372 



The Ideal in Public Life 

York, he becomes a Boss; in Kentucky and Texas, an 
orator. Let me hope that, on this occasion at least, 
I shall not be suspected of being a politician. But, the 
statesman — the ideal statesman — in the mind's eye, 
Horatio! Bound by our limitations such an anomaly 
would be a statesman lacking a party, a statesman who 
never gets any votes, a statesman perpetually out of a 
job. We have had some imitation ideal statesmen who 
have been more or less successful in palming ofi their 
pinchbeck jewels for the real; but, looking backward 
over the history of the country, we shall find the great- 
est among our public men — measuring greatness by 
eminent service — to have been, while they lived, least 
considered as ideals; for they were men of flesh and 
blood, who, amid the rush of duty as they saw it, could 
not stop to paint pictures, to brood over details, to con- 
sider sensibilities, to put forth the deft hand, where 
life and death hung upon the stroke of a bludgeon or 
the swinging of a club. 

Washington was not an ideal statesman, nor Ham- 
ilton, nor Jefferson, nor Lincoln ; though each of them 
conceived grandly and executed nobly. They loved 
truth for truth's sake. Yet no one of them ever quite 
attained his own conception of it. Truth indeed is 
ideal. But, when we come to adapt and apply it, how 
many faces it shows us, what varying aspects ! So that 
he is fortunate who is able to catch and hold a single 
fleeting expression, to bridle this and saddle it, and, 
373 



The Compromises of Life 

as we say In Kentucky, to ride it a turn or two around 
the paddock, or, still better, down the home-stretch of 
things accomplished. The real statesman must often 
do as he can, not as he would; the ideal statesman ex- 
isting only in the credulity of those simple idolaters 
who are captivated by appearances or deceived by pro- 
fessions. 

The ideal in public life, as I conceive it, relates 
rather to the agglomeration of the State than to any 
individual example ; to a people sufficiently lifted above 
the strifes and passions of their leaders to discriminate 
between right and wrong; to a body of voters who do 
not trot in droves to the polls like sheep to the sham- 
bles, happy in the bonfires that blind their eyes, ex- 
ultant through sheer sound and fury, signifying at least 
nothing to them except more taxes, heavier burdens, 
and, at last, confirmation of the right to pay the piper 
and settle with the undertaker. 

The nearest approach to the ideal statesman this 
country has evolved lived and died here in the metrop- 
olis. If ever man pursued an ideal life he did. From 
youth to age he dwelt amid his fancies. He was truly 
a man of the world among men of letters, and a man 
of letters among men of the world. A philosopher 
pure and simple — a lover of books, of pictures, of all 
things beautiful and elevating — he yet attained great 
riches, and, being a doctrinaire and having a passion 
for affairs, he was able to gratify the aspiration to emi- 
374 



The Ideal in Public Life 

ncnce and the yearning to be of service to the State 
which had filled his heart. Without any of the arti- 
fices usual to the practical politician he gradually rose 
to be a power in his party; thence, to become the 
leader of a vast following; his name a shibboleth to 
millions of his countrymen, who enthusiastically sup- 
ported him, and who believed that he was elected 
Chief Magistrate of the United States. He was in- 
deed an idealist; he lost the White House because he 
was so; though represented by his enemies as a schem- 
ing spider weaving his web amid the coil of mystifica- 
tion in which he hid himself. For this man was per- 
sonally known to few in the city where he had made 
his career; a great lawyer and jurist, who rarely ap- 
peared in court; a great popular leader, to whom the 
hustings were mainly a stranger; a thinker, and yet a 
dreamer, who lived his own life a little apart, as a 
poet might; uncorrupting and incorruptible; least of 
all his political companions moved by the loss of the 
Presidency which had seemed in his grasp. And, 
finally, he died — though a master of legal lore — to 
have his last will and testament successfully assailed. 

I hope the Society of American Authors, whose 
guests we are this night, will not consider me invidious 
when I say that literature and politics are as wide 
apart as the poles. From Bolingbroke, the most splen- 
did of the world's failures, to Thackeray, one of its 
greatest masters of letters — ^who happily did not get 
375 



The Compromises of Life 

the chance he sought in public life to fail — both Eng- 
lish and American history is full of illustrations to 
this effect. Except in the comic opera of French poli- 
tics, the poet, the artist, invested with power, seems to 
lose his efficiency in the ratio of his genius; the liter- 
ary gift, the artistic temperament, instead of aiding, 
actually antagonizing the aptitude for public business. 
The statesman may not be fastidious. The poet, the 
artist, must be always so. If the party leader preserve 
his integrity — if he keep himself disinterested and 
clean — if his public influence be inspiring to his coun- 
trymen and his private influence obstructive of cheats 
and rogues among his adherents — he will have done 
well, if not his best. Hence it is that I say that the 
ideal in public life may not be achieved through any 
one or a dozen individuals posing as statesmen, but 
through the moral and intellectual emancipation of the 
whole people. 

We have happily left behind us the gibbet and the 
stake. No further need of the Voltaires, the Rous- 
seaus, and the Diderots to declaim against kingcraft 
and priestcraft. We have done something more than 
mark time. We report progress. Yet, despite the 
miracles of modern invention, how far in the arts of 
government has the world travelled from darkness to 
light since the old tribal days, and what has it learned, 
except to enlarge the area, to augment the agencies, to 
multiply and complicate the forms and processes of 
376 



The Ideal in Public Life 

corruption? By corruption, I mean the dishonest ad- 
vantage of the few over the many. The dreams of 
yesterday we are told become the realities of to-mor- 
row. It may be so in science and in art. But the 
dreams of Emerson related less to science and art and 
letters than to the development of individual charac- 
ter, book-culture, picture-culture, music-culture, mere- 
ly the lamps that light the onward march of that 
development, so many mile-posts along the highway 
indicating that war is not the state of man. 

In these despites, I am an optimist. Much truly 
there needs to be learned, much to be unlearned. Ad- 
vanced as we think ourselves, we are yet a long way 
from the most rudimentary perception of the civiliza- 
tion we are so fond of parading. The Eternal Veri- 
ties? Where shall we seek them? Little in religious 
affairs, less still in commercial affairs, hardly any at all 
in political affairs, that being right which represents 
each church's idea, each party's idea, each man's idea 
of the prevailing interest, or predilection. Still, I re- 
peat, we progress. The pulpit begins to turn away 
from the sinister visage of theology and to teach the 
simple lessons of Christ and Him crucified. The 
press, which used to be omniscient, is now only indis- 
criminate; a clear gain; emitting, by force of pub- 
licity, if not of shine, a kind of light, through whose 
diverse rays and foggy lustre we may now and then 
get a glimpse of truth ; though rarely the primal truth 
377 



The Compromises of Life 

embodied by that blessed legend, "Do thou unto others 
as thou wouldst that they should do unto you," 
wherein lie the whole secret and mystery of human 
happiness. Brook Farm was a failure because it was 
long ages before its time; yet it set a candle upon the 
altars of humanity and left a not unmeaning tradition 
behind it. That lovely idyl lives to-day in the hearts 
of the men who are returning to the world some of 
the millions their genius for accumulation drew from 
it in such sums and for such purposes as will presently 
establish it as a fact, and not an empty saying, that 
there is more pleasure in giving than in receiving. One 
at least of these men has rendered us a modern and 
truer reading of the spirit of the Sermon on the Mount 
in the declaration that he would be ashamed to take 
his millions with him into the throne-room of Grace; 
and let us believe that in laying down this principle 
and acting upon it, Carnegie is but the first of a line 
of kings whose dynasty Is safer than that of Hapsburg, 
or of Hohenzollern, whose right divine Is registered 
where alone divine rights belong; of a line of kings 
who shall ordain a new polity, establish a new goS' 
pel, from whose bell-towers It shall be proclaimed that 
there Is actually a God above riches and might, who 
will demand, and In this world, too, a strict account- 
ing. Let cynics deride them, let casuists find other 
than noble motives for their benefactions, I, at least, 
will look no gift horse in the mouth; the rather see 

378 



The Ideal in Public Life 

in them the dawn of a day when money shall be so 
cheap and plenty — even as it used to be in the Con- 
federacy — that it shall be said of him who hath it, the 
more he hath, the poorer he is ! 

The ideal then in public life is first of all and over 
all a public opinion compelling the same moral obli- 
gation in public as in private affairs; of a public opin- 
ion able to distinguish between the spurious and the 
real; in short, of a trained intelligence sufficiently dif- 
fused among the people to protect them at least against 
the grosser form.s of deception. Barnum discovered 
not alone the virtues of humbug but the willing sub- 
jection of its victims. There will be, I suppose, al- 
ways persons who entertain a natural prejudice in 
favor of quack nostrums. Cagliostro has ever been 
one of the most interesting among the figures of an 
age crowded with prodigies. We pique ourselves upon 
our mother wit — Yankee wit we call it — ^but from 
how many shams has it rescued us? We alternately 
blame and praise the newspapers; they are precisely 
what we m.ake them. They will either grow wiser and 
better as leaders, or, ceasing to lead, will become mere 
vehicles of intercommunication; the editor only a few 
hours in advance of his readers in the knowledge of 
current events. Meanwhile, let us not misinterpret, 
but carry in mind and heart these pregnant words of 
Emerson: "We live in a very low state of the world 
and pay unwilling tribute to governments founded on 
379 



The Compromises of Life 

force . . . but society is fluid . . . com- 
merce, education, religion may be voted in or out 
. . . the law is only a memorandum. . . . 
The statute stands there to say, yesterday we agreed 
so and so . . . the history of the State sketches 
in coarse outline the progress of thought, and follows 
at a distance the delicacy of culture and aspiration 
. . . in the end, all shall be well." 

Recurring to the text with which I began, let me 
say in conclusion that I prefer to believe that there are 
a little more than curiosity and superfluous energy be- 
hind the effort to reach the North Pole, and on the 
other side of it something less strenuous, as our good 
President would say, than a race of warlike giants 
committed to a final world conquest. Perhaps we shall 
find there, held through long ages in reserve — in Para- 
disaic cold storage — for the delectation of man, a crys- 
talline assortment of ideals — of ideals translated and 
ready to be at once appropriated and applied — fore- 
most among them being the ideal statesman. Till then 
let us continue to aspire, to labor, and to wait, for 
not till then may we attain verification of the conceit 
that one man is as good as another, as indeed he ought 
to be when they can read, can also think, and when 
we, the survivals of the fittest, have arrived in that re- 
created universe, where there shall be no more oratory 
and posing for effect, nor kingcraft, nor priestcraft, 
nor partycraft — not even after-dinner speech-making — 
380 



The Ideal in Public Life 

but where every voter shall be his own file-leader and 
each particular lie shall nail itself to the cross. 

"When the Church is social worth, 
When the State-house is the hearth, 
Then the perfect State is come, 
The Republican at home!" 



381 



IV 
SPEECHES 



383 



THE ELECTORAL COMMISSION BILL* 

Mr. Speaker, I have listened with attention to what- 
ever has been said on either side of the House touching 
this momentous question. I have done so not merely 
on account of the distinguished character and talents of 
the gentlemen w^ho have preceded me, but because, en- 
tertaining a distinct opinion of my ow^n, I have been 
curious to discover how far that might be altered or 
modified by the reasoning of those who have made the 
consideration of problems in constitutional law the busi- 
ness of their lives, and who are therefore able to bring 
to this present inquiry the copious information of profes- 
sional training. Being a layman, and having no larger 
knowledge of such matters than should be possessed by 
every citizen who loves his country, and who, valuing 
its free institutes, has sought to compass the spirit and 
forms under which they exist, I shall make no pretence 
of adding to the law of the case. I would not trespass 
upon the time and courtesy of the House at all but that, 
intertwisted with the legal points submitted to us, are a 
multitude of practical, every-day suggestions bearing 
upon our whole political economy and nearly affecting 

* House of Representatives, XLIVth Congress, January 26, 1877. 

385 



The Compromises of Life 

this immediate issue. For behind this conflict of juris- 
dictions are arrayed the forces of half a century of sec- 
tional agitation. The conflict itself is based upon the 
disputed votes of one Northern and three Southern 
States. These latter bring before us the results of a 
vast scheme of reconstruction, w^hile upon the final issue 
another reconstruction may depend. Not merely the 
rights, powers, prerogatives, and duties of the two 
Houses are involved therefore, but the existence of po- 
litical society in certain parts of the country, and a just 
understanding between the people in every part of it, all 
referable more or less to the action of the proposed com- 
mission, as bound up in the administrative policy to flow 
from the selection of the one or other contestant for the 
office of Chief Magistrate. 

That the situation is something more than critical; 
that, with reference to the present, it may involve a 
perilous exigency, while with reference to the future, it 
does involve a vital principle in Republican ethics, will 
hardly be denied by any thoughtful person. It must 
also be admitted to be an extraordinary circumstance 
that an organic question of such magnitude as that em- 
braced by a series of disputed matters of fact and law 
in the count of the electoral vote, and behind that of the 
popular vote for President and Vice-President, should 
be the occasion of so little tumult. In the dead of a 
winter of unusual rigor, thousands of people begging in 
the streets of the great cities for bread, thousands of 

386 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

people everywhere out of employment, the business of 
the country prostrate, what do we see? The rich hug 
their millions in security, while the people, clasping 
their free fabric to their bosoms, conscious alike of the 
danger which menaces it and of the hardships which 
press upon themselves, pursue the even tenor of their 
way In a manner conservative enough to satisfy the most 
Infatuated believer In Napoleonic Ideas. I shall take 
leave in the remarks which I have to offer to go outside 
the record of tittle-tattle which has constituted so large 
a portion of our discussions — nay, outside the record of 
the written law, which Is not always a certain guide — 
and ask your consideration of some odds and ends, partly 
of belief and partly of observation, picked up in the 
course of considerable migration between war and peace, 
between the North and the South, during the stress of 
weather encountered by our peculiar system the last 
two decades. Conceiving that these may not fall in 
precisely with the conventional routine of debate, I 
venture to hope that they may give on this floor some 
partial expression of that love of country and kind 
which warms the Anglo-Saxon heart in the United 
States to deeds of gentleness rather than violence, 
clearly Indicating that we are the most homogeneous 
people on the face of the globe. 

Sir, the American people are Indeed a brave and lov- 
ing people. The two sections of our Union, never quite 
married, originally held together by strong ties of nat- 

387 



The Compromises of Life 

ural affection only, got on well enough until the 
stronger, as is wont to be the case, pressed for a closer 
relationship, and with more power became more exact- 
ing. The weaker resisted, incautiously, of course. 
She resented, passionately, of course. The open rupture 
came, whose end was a matter of course, for the weaker 
always goes to the wall. And now we behold in our 
public affairs, what we often see in private life, that, be- 
cause submission and affection have not proved to be 
convertible terms, despotic power would smirch the 
character, as well as blight the future, of the victim. 
Mr. Speaker, as we say to our little ones, "easy is much 
better than hard." To-day it is the South which rep- 
resents the woman in the quarrel. To-morrow it may 
be the East. Why is it that where the woman cannot 
be debauched she must be destroyed ? 

But we are told that "nobody wants to destroy the 
South." Certainly not ; because, apart from considera- 
tions of a sentimental sort, the prosperity of the whole 
country depends upon the well-being of each of its sec- 
tions. Baleful as I think the Republican policy has 
been, and harshly as I sometimes feel toward the authors 
of that policy, I shall not allow myself to believe the 
Republican masses so deliberately malignant as the re- 
sults of eleven years of maladministration would make 
them appear could they have foreseen its consequences. 
I take it that they have been honestly mistaken as to the 
true nature of the case, and shall try to show before I 
388 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

sit down some of the causes which have misled them. 
Whatever its origin, all of us should desire to have done 
with criminations and recriminations, bringing profit 
only to such as trade upon the ignorance and passions of 
unthinking men. 

It used to be urged that the soldiers of the two con- 
tending armies in our sectional war would be able to 
make a speedy and lasting peace if they were given the 
opportunity. The same may be said of the whole peo- 
ple. If the people of the South could traverse the pleas- 
ant highways and byways of New England, if they 
could behold the admirable public and domestic 
economy that prevails there, if they could have personal 
knowledge of the still more admirable hospitality and 
geniality which warm the true New England heart, 
they would recognize in the mingled obstinacy, narrow- 
ness, and good-will of the New Englander much of 
their own exuberant spirit of provincial dogmatism. 
On the other hand, I maintain it to be true that wher- 
ever the New Englander has gone South with a fair 
purpose he has encountered an honest welcome and has 
found a race of men and women kindred to his own. 
There is no sectional line, no air-line or water-line in 
this country, east or west or north or south, which 
marks ofE separate species. There are local peculiari- 
ties everywhere. The habits, customs, and manners of 
the people in Maine and Mississippi differ certainly, but 
not more than those of the people In Arkansas and South 
389 



The Compromises of Life 

Carolina. Take two communities lying alongside, like 
Kentucky and Tennessee, and we find each pursuing its 
bent, having ways of its own not shared by the other. 
There is no natural antagonism between any of those 
States.- But it is easy enough to raise up artificial an- 
tagonism. **How great a flame a little fire kindleth;" 
hate begetting hate as love begets love. The process is 
as old as the world, familiar to all mankind. In this 
place and at this time I wish to deal with it only as it 
concerns ourselves. 

My reading of American history may not be profound, 
but If it tells me one thing more than another it is that 
the American people are a homogeneous people, and 
that, if they can once again establish themselves upon the 
home-rule principle of the Constitution, which leaves 
each section and State to settle Its domestic affairs In its 
own way, we shall see the dawn of an era of progress 
and power hitherto undreamed of by the most ardent. 
To the policy of interference, the spirit of intermeddling, 
we can trace all our Ills, for we may be sure that so long 
as the politicians in one section are able to make capital 
off the conditions prevailing In another section, there 
will be misrepresentation, the party holding the general 
government holding the whip-hand of prejudice and 
passion. To-day we have merely a reversal of the 
forces which filled the land with darkness twenty years 
ago, The lines may be deeper, the portents more om- 
inous; but the spectacle of intolerance is just the same 
390 



(V 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

No fair-minded man can say, and no honest historian 
will record, that our great sectional conflict was one- 
sided ; all the right here and all the wrong there. The 
North found out very early in the race that slave labor 
was not profitable. So, consulting a prudent sagacity, 
it sold its slaves, never failing to put the money it got 
for them in its pocket. That was a long time before 
the morality of slavery entered into party politics. Nay, 
for a quarter of a century thereafter the slavery ques- 
tion was remanded to the custody of a handful of en- 
thusiasts who were hardly more odious in the one sec- 
tion than in the other. At length the politicians, seeing 
in it the materials for agitation, seized it, and for an- 
other quarter of a century, and on both sides, much per- 
verted it. The calm reviewer of the future, be his 
predilections what they may, will peruse those old de- 
bates with mingled curiosity and sorrow; passionate 
declamation everywhere, each party for itself, the un- 
happy cause of disturbance being slowly but surely 
ground between the upper and nether mill-stone. Sir, 
that is the spectacle in this country to-day, particularly 
as to the black man. During all these years he has 
been the one patient, unoffending sufferer. When he 
was a slave his lot was made harder by the war which 
was levied in his behalf. Now that he is a freeman, a 
new contention has arisen which makes it harder still. 
His real interest has been, and is, the very last thing 
considered. And yet, seeing that his existence has 
391 



The Compromises of Life 

proved almost as tormenting to the white man as to 
himself, one would be led to ask why he Is such a 
favorite with partisans of every description, If all of us 
did not know that It was at the first, and Is now, and 
will always be as long as the race question Is continued 
In our politics — to use the homely but expressive phrase 
of Hosea BIglow — 

To git some on *em oiEs an* some on 'em votes 

The black man Is a freeman, a citizen, and a voter. 
If these possessions do not protect him, no more can 
troops of laws or troops of soldiers. But they are am- 
ple to protect him, and they do protect him, wherever 
they are left to their natural bent. 

Take, for illustration, the States of Maryland, Ken- 
tucky, and Missouri, which did not pass through the 
ordeal of reconstruction, and compare the condition of 
the negro therein with his condition In Louisiana and 
South Carolina. I can speak with some assurance for 
Kentucky, and I ought to be held to be a competent 
witness, for I have given proofs of being a steady friend 
to the black man. At the close of the war It was my 
belief that, since there was no way to supply ourselves 
with another labor system, our Interest, as well as our 
duty, was to Improve such as we had ; to make the best 
of a bad bargain; to take the negro In his rags, igno- 
rance, and squalor, and try to make a man of him ; to 
392 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

protect him, educate him, elevate him. A movement in 
this direction was bound to meet resistance and obstruc- 
tion. But, step by step, within the good old common- 
wealth of Kentucky, and within the Democratic party, 
which controlled Kentucky, the fight was made. There 
•were no trumped-up legislatures imported from alien 
regions for hostile purposes, seeking to do by force that 
which was to be best done by simple, popular arts. 
There were no bellicose proclamations from bogus Gov- 
ernors, saddled upon the people by martial appliance, 
intended to incite violence in order that arbitrary power 
might secure Its pretext for renewed exaction. The 
Federal authority happened to be exercised with mod- 
eration through officials who, whatever opinions they 
may have had, were responsible men, Kentucklans to the 
marrow-bone and manner born. There were conflicts 
of jurisdiction, undoubtedly, and wherever these ap- 
peared they retarded the forward march of events. But 
they were not serious enough to stop it. Thus, by 
easy stages, and by popular consent, the negro presently 
tound himself vested with such legal rights as the States 
have exclusive power to give; he was established in the 
rights which the general Government had given him; 
he was made secure in his home, and he is to-day sur- 
passed by no laboring-man in any part of the world In 
the advantage which he enjoys for getting on in life. 
He is sought by all parties — a very popular person, in- 
deed, with candidates for office. In the city where I 
393 



The Compromises of Life 

live, his churches and schools are numerous, well- 
ordered, and well-attended. He has no conflicts with 
the whites. In a word, he is a freeman, a citizen, and 
a voter. 

That is the solution, as it is the history, of the black 
problem submitted to natural laws. If the negro can- 
not be protected by the domestic system under which he 
lives, far less is he likely to be protected by misapplied 
and misused Federal agencies. The enlightened forces 
of society, however, when left to their particular ac- 
countability, will always assert themselves. They have 
an interest at stake beyond all other interests. It is 
when society has been overawed and silenced, when irre- 
sponsible men have been put above it, as in Louisiana 
and South Carolina, that we see physical disturbance 
and commercial ruin. 

The plea that there is an exceptional civilization and 
humanity in the South ineradicably opposed to the negro 
is false. There is no more hostility toward the negro 
in the South than in the North ; if I spoke my full mind, 
I should say that there is less. Precisely the same sys- 
tem of civilization and humanity exists in the one section 
that exists in the other. Its manifestations differ 
merely as I have said. The vicious elements in an old- 
established body-politic are less violent than in a newly 
settled community. The educated rascal in New Eng- 
land who forges paper and raises checks finds his coun- 
terpart in the Southern swashbuckler who wears a ruf- 
394 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

fled shirt and is handy with his revolver. Each, taking 
his cue from the conditions around about him, engages 
in that department of crime which he thinks safest. 
Thus, the one or the other becomes the fashion among 
rogues. An ancient, thickly populated region finds it 
necessary to hold life by its surest fastenings. Its laws 
against murder are, therefore, rigidly enforced. Bad 
men turn their attention to less dangerous pursuits and 
murder is left to ruffians, who are too ignorant or too 
hardened to have the fear of the gallows constantly be- 
fore their eyes. Life hangs more loosely in new com- 
munities and murder is at once cheaper and easier. But 
crime is crime the world over — acts perpetrated by bad 
men — and it is as fair to judge New England by her 
Winslows and Pomeroys as to judge the South by such 
examples as are paraded in support of the argument 
touching her peculiar civilization. No society, how- 
ever, should be judged by its baser elements; for they do 
not rule. The better elements of societj^ govern in the 
South as in the North, whenever society is put upon its 
responsibility. Suppose, to take a ready example, that 
after Tweed and his followers had got possession of the 
city of New York they had been supported in their 
predatory work by the Government of the United 
States. Suppose the great body of the people of New 
York had been disfranchised. Suppose every peaceful 
effort at relief had been met by troops sent by orders 
from Washington at Tweed's call. Suppose for years 
395 



The Compromises of Life 

the majority on this floor had extolled the Tweed sys- 
tem and the Tweed operators, and had described the 
mass and body of society in New York as rebels and 
traitors, having two rights only, the right to be hanged 
and the right to be damned, what would the result have 
been? I ask any candid man whether he thinks it 
would differ materially from the existing state of affairs 
in Louisiana and South Carolina, even as that is de- 
picted by the unfriendliest hand? It w^ould be the 
same, believe me, for New York and New Orleans, 
Boston and Charleston, are made up of the same race, 
moved by the same interests, stirred by the same pas- 
sions. Those who seek to create a different impression 
have either learned nothing by their experience or are 
consciously and purposely malignant. National gather- 
ings are constantly illustrating the absurdity of such 
partisan outgivings. Church assemblies, trade meet- 
ings, educational and scientific and political conven- 
tions, made up of delegates from all the States, come 
together, year after year, and there is no sign whatever 
of a diversified humanity and civilization. On the con- 
trary, there is fellowship, thorough and complete. But 
when it suits a body of partisans to do a job of work of 
which they have reason to be ashamed, then we hear the 
sectional tocsin sounded, appealing to passions of the 
baser sort. Sir, the American people have listened to 
that unreasoning clangor for five-and-twenty years, and 
they are tired of it. They want a rest on it. The men 
396 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

of my generation were In no wise responsible for our sec- 
tional war. They can be fairly said to have no politi- 
cal antecedents. They are competent to utter the 
things they will about that war as well as about passing 
events, and they ought to do so freely and fully, nay, the 
better sense and better nature of the country wish them 
to do so. Such controversies as we have should be set- 
tled in our day and by ourselves. They should not be 
committed to our children, to rankle in their hearts, 
planting all over the land the seeds of future disturb- 
ance. 

Less than this as to the circumstances which have 
produced the present complications and their underly- 
ing cause I could not say. It may not be true that we 
stand upon the brink of civil war; but it is true that 
grave dangers stare us in the face, threatening every 
public and private interest. I wish to inveigh against 
no party, to abuse nobody, but that a well-organized 
conspiracy exists to put a President in the White House 
who in my judgment was not elected by the people, I 
do not doubt. Nor is this the worst of it, for it has 
long seemed inevitable, embodying a peril which the 
wisest have feared might be inherent to our system. 
The Democratic party of a by-gone era was strong 
enough to make its exit from power the signal for a sec- 
tional war. The Republican party of this present day, 
equally strong and arrogant, regards itself as holding 
the Government in fee-simple, and, using the sectional 
397 



The Compromises of Life 

question as the Democratic party formerly used the 
slavery question, it is able, through its leaders, to pre- 
cipitate the country into civil w^ar. The transfer of 
powder by peaceful process from one great party to an- 
other is an unsolved problem in the practical operation 
of domestic government. Therefore, I have looked to 
the present crisis for years w^ith misgiving, conceiving 
that sooner or later it would surely come. Nor have 
its dramatis persona, its implements and resources, sur- 
prised me. They are large and potent. It is even 
claimed that they are sufficiently equipped to be more 
than a match for the unorganized masses of the people. 
We may as v^^ell talk plainly of things as they are. The 
Republican party, intrenched in its position, is compact 
and united. If it is magnificent in nothing else, it is 
magnificent in its organization and audacity. The 
Democratic party is as one who has his right arm tied 
behind him. If forced into civil war, it would proceed 
under the greatest possible disadvantage. I speak thus 
not merely because I wish to be clear in my line of argu- 
ment, concealing nothing, but because there are evils to 
be more dreaded than civil war. Rather than see a 
cabal of party managers using the power placed in their 
possession as a supreme party to seat a usurper in the 
Chief Magistracy, the people would, after having ex- 
hausted peaceful agencies to prevent it, be justified in a 
resort to stronger measures. In this connection I may 
say that, dreading the arrival of this exigency, I have 
398 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

from the first urged upon my political associates proper 
agitation as to the danger, so that the public opinion of 
the time might be fully advised, and, being advised, 
might organize itself to avert it. The fault is not with 
me that this was neglected until the bare suggestion 
came to be dismissed with alternate derision and odium, 
by some as a piece of empty bravado, by others as down- 
right sedition. I do admit that the time has gone by 
when the people at large could act effectively for them- 
selves. If the two Houses of Congress fail to agree, 
then indeed we shall have come upon an emergency. 
We shall see the Senate, casting the blame upon the 
House, proceed to the counting in of Hayes and 
Wheeler; we shall see the President of the United 
States, supported by the army and navy, prepare to seat 
them in office; we shall see the Chief- Justice ready to 
administer to them the oaths of office. The House, act- 
ing under its construction of its rights, privileges, and 
duties, proceeds to elect a President. Then follows 
either civil war or a case in law, but no matter which, 
continuous suspense, commotion, and discontent. Let 
us assume, what I believe, that there will be no war. 
Let us assume that the Senate, acting for itself, declares 
Hayes and Wheeler elected, and that upon this the 
country settles down into sullen acquiescence. What 
have we then ? There are those who tell us that four 
years hence we shall obtain the desired change of parties 
in the Government, brought about by such overwhelm- 
399 



The Compromises of Life 

ing majorities as will leave no room for conspiracy or 
doubt. I think not so. On the contrary, we shall have 
four years of planning and disturbance, with another 
and a better substantial bloody-shirt campaign at the 
end of them; a North more prejudiced than now; a 
South thoroughly demoralized; no such organization, 
no such issues, no such opportunities as the opposition 
had in the last campaign. 

Usurpation goes backward as little as revolution. 
The inauguration of Hayes by a process such as the ex- 
treme members of the Republican Senate will be re- 
duced to, if the two Houses fail to agree upon a joint 
plan, would be regarded as a usurpation by considerably 
more than one-half of the people. In the South it 
would be universally held as a step forward in revolu- 
tion. By its authors it would be taken as evidence of 
their ability to go ahead without fear of the conse- 
quences. Another reconstruction, justified by the con- 
dition of affairs in Louisiana and South Carolina, will 
loom into view. This will include Mississippi, Florida, 
and perhaps Alabam.a; and, to commend itself to any 
approval, it must be "thorough," for the country will 
submit to no more half measures. Thus, already ruined 
in their material concerns, the Southern people will be 
quite bereft of hope. They will have no political 
future, and we shall see society divided into three 
classes : 

First, th? despairing, who will say **There is no use 
400 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

of voting any more, because we elected a President 
whom the country would not inaugurate." 

Second, the time-servers, who will make terms with 
the Republicans, and, like self-seekers time out of mind, 
will become useful only for mischief. 

Third, the constitutional opposition, weakened in 
every way, and of no particular value to its fellow-class 
in the North. 

These, Mr. Speaker, I regard as the almost certain 
consequences of seating a President in office by a process 
and on a title which a large majority of the people can- 
not approve, but which they will believe to be fraud- 
ulent. The ultimate end of such an invasion of the 
spirit of our Government must be the overthrow of the 
Government itself, civil war, and all the evils which 
such experiences entail. We, no more than other peo- 
ple, can claim or expect immunity from the ills which, 
from the beginning of time, have beset the nations of the 
earth. To prevent, therefore, a catastrophe so dire, no 
less than to escape the perils immediately before us, 
every nerve of brain and heart should be strained. I 
take issue with those who think that any good can flow 
from usurpation. Whoever succeeds to the Chief 
Magistracy, I want to see him seated in office on an un- 
clouded title. This brings me to the bill under con- 
sideration. 

I have said, sir, that I shall not undertake to add to 
the law of the case. It seems to me that an eminent 
401 



The Compromises of Life 

jurist in the other House, the distinguished Senator 
from Vermont,* has made it perfectly clear that the bill 
is constitutional. I accept and adopt his view without 
reservation. It not only settles all constitutional doubts 
in my mind, but it smooths an original objection which 
I had entertained to the scheme as a mere compromise. 
Since Congress has power to legislate in this wise 
the bill is not a compromise, although it accomplishes 
that for which compromise is usually invoked. That 
the proposed commission is established in accordance 
with law, and that it is to be equitably organized, have 
been the only questions on which I have allowed my 
mind to rest; because, considering the present state of 
affairs, not as I would have it, but as it is, I believe that, 
if some arrangement be not reached between this and 
the middle of February, we shall find ourselves drifting 
in an open boat upon a shoreless sea, compassless and 
rudderless, nobody to lead us whom we can trust, and 
no concert of action among ourselves, but, in room of 
these essentials to useful endeavor, a desperate partisan 
conspiracy in front of us, armed cap-a-pie and prepared 
for emergencies. The sole hope of that conspiracy is 
the non-agreement of the two House'^ of Congress. The 
sole hope left the people — a choice of evils, I grant — is 
the proposed commission. That it is to be fairly con- 
stituted, and that as made up it will compose a tribunal 
which men can respect, I believe, and, so believing, I am 

* Mr. Edmunds. 
402 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

willing to rest the case with it. I am the readier to do 
this since I regard Tilden's case as a good one; but I 
shall vote for the bill with the full consciousness that 
the action of the commission may bitterly disappoint me 
and those who feel and think with me. If it does, I 
shall still have discharged a most unpleasing duty in 
that manner which was best calculated to preserve con- 
stitutional forms and keep the peace of the country at a 
time when the Republic was menaced and the people 
were not prepared for war. 

Mr. Speaker, sixteen years ago the people of this 
country were brought face to face with an undetermined 
point in constitutional law touching the right of a State 
to secede from the Union. Thousands of intelligent 
and honest men believed that right to exist. There was 
no tribunal, however, to which they could refer it. 
War, the result of which no one could foresee, whose 
consequences will outlast this and the next generation, 
ensued. It is idle at this late day to speculate upon 
what might have been if the States had possessed some 
constitutional means of arbitration. But it is quite cer- 
tain that had they known what we know, they would 
have gone greater lengths to keep the peace. We now 
confront a danger just as real and just as great. No 
less than the rulership of the country is involved. The 
Houses of Congress are controlled by opposing political 
bodies. There is confusion in the returns of the elec- 
toral vote. The terms of the Constitution lack explic- 
403 



The Compromises of Life 

itness and furnish the minds of many a reasonable doubt 
as to what, speaking precisely, is lawful to be done. 
Setting aside the passions and interests of partisans, the 
non-partisan classes, embracing at least one-half the 
total vote polled in the election, share this doubt to such 
an extent that they have held aloof thus far from public 
demonstration. They are at length making their 
wishes known with emphasis. They understand the 
danger and see in the proposed commission the means of 
averting it. For my part, if my objections were even 
greater than they are, I should give it to them. Let it 
place whom it may in the Presidential office, it will, 
without dishonor, bring us that repose of which, of all 
things, the country stands most in need. In other 
words, it is this, or the Senate, or civil war. I may not, 
and I do not, like it as an original proposition. I may, 
and I do, feel a sense of indignation that such a contin- 
gency has been forced by the operations of what I be- 
lieve to be conspiracy. But, reduced to a choice of evils, 
I take this tribunal, entertaining no doubt that it will be 
composed of competent and patriotic men, by whose 
judgment I shall abide, something more than party be- 
ing at stake. The happiness and peace of forty millions 
of people will press upon the commission raised by this 
act ; its members will cease to be partisans ; they will sit 
for the whole country ; and, as they discharge their full 
duty, they will be honored in the land. It seems to me 
that, if arbitration is our only recourse, as I believe it is, 
404 



The Electoral Commission Bill 

that proposed is both legal and just. Upon it, there- 
fore, good men everywhere will rest the issue, trusting 
that the God from whom we received our fair, free sys- 
tem, building wiser than we knew, will bring it safely 
through this present danger. 



405 



ENGLAND AND AMERICA* 

A distinguished journalist of London, holding a 
scat In the Imperial Parliament, was quoted last win- 
ter as saying that, before the United States venture 
upon a war with England, or any foreign power, the 
southern section of the Union would have to be reck- 
oned with. How little he knew about the situation 
of affairs, and the state of public sentiment. In Amer- 
ica. If, upon this Memorial Day, officially dedicated 
to the fallen heroes of one army, the fallen heroes of 
both armies who fought In that stubborn contention 
could be mustered on earth, and could witness the com- 
plete obliteration of every sign, token, and Issue of 
domestic strife, and realize, as the living do, the full 
meaning of the conclusive result reached thirty-one 
years ago, it may be doubted whether the exultation of 
the one side would, in sincerity and universality, ex- 
ceed the satisfaction of the other side. I say "satisfac- 
tion" advisedly, for, since no man can be expected to 
exult in his own undoing, a stronger expression might 
not precisely fit the case. But I do declare that, among 
the survivors of those who fought so well from Big 

* A speech made at the Consular Banquet, Hotel Cecil, London, May 
30, 1896. 

406 



England and America 

Bethel in 1861 to Appomattox in 1865, and their de- 
scendants, there is now but one feeling, and that of 
thankfulness to God that He laid the weight of His 
hand upon the Southern Confederacy and preserved 
the life of the American Union. 

I was over here just after that dreadful struggle — 
a very ragged rebel, indeed — and was not long discov- 
ering that such trivial distinctions as Federal and Con- 
federate were Greek to the average European mind. 
All of us, Southerners and Northerners alike, all of us 
were Yankees. I took the hint, and with it the 
shortest cut I could back to the protecting folds of 
the flag under which I was born, and I found there 
the shelter so ample and restful, so comforting and so 
comfortable, that I clung to it, froze to it, and have 
ever since been advising the boys, old and young, to 
follow my example. 

With all deference to my very old and dear friend, 
the Ambassador,* and to the sentiments uttered by the 
eminent Senator from Massachusetts,! I confess that 
I am a Jingo; but you will be assured that I mean no 
discourtesy to those of our English friends who have 
honored us by their presence when I tell you, and them, 
that It was from England I learned the lesson and got 
the cue. Let me hasten to add that there is no pos- 
session which England has that America wants. The 
world is quite big enough for both of us. But nothing 

* Mr. Bayard. f Mr. Hoar. 

407 



The Compromises of Life 

is gained to either by seeking to conceal the fact, that 
behind the party leaders and the public journals, here 
to-day and gone to-morrow, there are millions of peo- 
ple who may not with safety be ignored, and vast in- 
terests which can only be secured by a policy of firm, 
enlightened self-assertion, equally plain-spoken on both 
sides. 

The greatness and glory of England go without 
saying. It should require no self-seeking flunkyism 
eager for social recognition, nor any resonant lip-ser- 
vice, delighted to have an audience and rejoicing in 
the sound of its own voice, to impress upon intelligent 
Englishmen the truth that no intelligent American 
desires any other than the most constant, the most cor- 
dial relations of friendship with England. There are 
indeed shrines here where we worship; founts whence 
we have drawn thirst-quenching draughts of liberty 
and poetry and law. But the talk about common in- 
stitutions and a common language is cheap talk, and, 
in some respects, misleading talk. The common lan- 
guage did not prevent us from going to war on two 
occasions, and enables us on every occasion, when we 
happen to be out of temper, to express ourselves the 
more volubly and the more offensively. The common 
institutions, where they do not expose us to conflicting 
interests, are rather imaginary than real. We are of 
common origin and blood, undoubtedly, and that means 
that we are good fighters, who may be counted on, 
408 



England and America 

each to stand by his own ; and consequently, as this cir- 
cumstance has come to be tolerably well understood on 
both sides of the Atlantic, we are hearing a good deal 
about a new principle of international ethics, or juris- 
prudence, or what you will, which they call arbitration. 

Well, I am for "arbitration." I am for arbitration 
just as I am for religion and morality and justice, and 
all other good things that sound well and cost little. 
But who ever heard of religion or morality or justice 
interposing to prevent the church — your church or my 
church — from doing, as an aggregation, what no hon- 
est man would willingly do as an individual. Nations, 
I fear, are no better than churches, and, while arbitra- 
tion may work very well as a preventive, it will, when 
the disorder has struck in or become chronic, prove in- 
effectual as a cure. Then it is that the body politic, 
the body corporate, requires blood-letting; and blood- 
letting it will surely have. 

Not until man ceases to litigate will he cease to fight. 
When courts of law are abolished and lawyers are 
turned into darning-needles; when journalists ex- 
change their functions as preachers sometimes exchange 
their pulpits; when rival merchants will not permit 
one another to undersell his wares; in short, when the 
lion and the lamb have concluded to pool their issues 
and to lie down to pleasant dreams, we shall have that 
peace on earth, good-will to men, including, of course, 
free trade and sailors' rights, so ardently invoked on 
409 



The Compromises of Life 

this side of the ocean by Mr. Cobden and Mr. Bright, 
and, on our side, by Mr. Cleveland, to be applauded 
and denied, when opportunity has offered, on both 
sides. War is certainly a dreadful alternative. He 
who has seen it, and who knows what it actually means, 
can look upon it only with horror. But there are yet 
greater evils to mankind than war, whose elimination 
from human experience makes the emasculation of the 
human species simply a question of time. It was the 
heroic spirit of the Anglo-Saxon race which placed 
England where England is to-day, and her warriors 
are no more to be forgotten than her sages. It is to 
this same martial spirit that the American Union owes 
all that it is, and on which it must rely to maintain all 
that it has. It is certainly true that these two great 
nations occupy a position strong enough to control the 
destinies of the world ; but they are not likely to agree 
upon the terms until Englishmen find as much to thrill 
and exalt them at Mount Vernon as Americans find to 
thrill and exalt them at Stratford-on-Avon. Till then, 
thanking God that I am an Anglo-Saxon, and glorying 
in the achievements of my race, visible everywhere in 
this wondrous land, I must rest upon the answer made 
by John Adams to George the Third, when the King 
reminded him that, having been born an English sub- 
ject, he ought to love England : "Sire," said the sturdy 
old Republican, "Sire, I love no country except my 
own." 

< 410 



England and America 

I beg that you will forgive me If I overstep the lim- 
itations as to belligerency — in my case purely abstract 
— officially fixed upon an association dedicated to the 
noble arts of avarice and peace. But something may 
be allowed to certain peculiarities of the occasion. Your 
guest this evening is a General. I, myself, being a 
Kentucklan, have sometimes been called Colonel. 

If, Inspired by the heroic dead, to v^hose memory 
we have drunk, I take leave to hoist the national bunt- 
ing a little higher than the Duke of York's column, 
I trail It also In pious homage toward that dome yon- 
der where lie the mortal remains of Wellington and 
Nelson. I certainly do not mean to beard the lion In 
his den, nor to twist the mane or the tail of the noble 
beast when I remind you that we, too, have in Grant 
and Sherman and Lee, In Farragut and Stonewall 
Jackson, Anglo-Saxon soldiers whom Englishmen 
should delight to honor. Upon the basis of that honor, 
mutual, reciprocal, spontaneous, and sincere, may Eng- 
land and America always be, what they of right are 
and ought to be, bone of one bone and flesh of one 
flesh. 



411 



RECIPROCITY AND EXPANSION* 

In the event that I am ever a candidate for Presi- 
dent of the United States, w^hich Heaven forbid, I 
shall need the electoral vote of Massachusetts — or, 
rather let me say, that I never expect to become a can- 
didate for that office until assured in advance of that 
vote — and, this being agreed upon, you v^^ill not think 
me taking unfair advantage of your hospitality, or 
making a self-seeking electioneering use of it, when I 
say that I love Massachusetts. I love Massachusetts 
because Massachusetts loves liberty, and I love lib- 
erty. If I am a crank about anything it is about my 
right at all times and under all circumstances to talk 
out in meeting. There is but one human being In this 
w^orld whom I bow down to and obey, and she is not 
here this evening — she is at home — I came for pleasure 
— and, therefore, I am going to proceed just as though 
I were in reality Julius Caesar! 

Boston, I believe, is in Massachusetts, and the Bos- 
tonese, I am told, possess the conceit of themselves. It 
is a handy thing to have about the house, and in your 

* A speech made at the Banquet of the Merchants' Association of Bos- 
ton, December lo, 1901. 

412 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

case happens to be founded on fact. I at least shall 
not deny your claim to many good things which have 
come to pass since the birth of Benjamin Franklin and 
on down to the completion of the subway and the new 
passenger-stations. And yet back in the neck of 
woods where I abide there are those who think that 
Kentucky is **no slouch." A story is told of an old 
darky in slave-holding days who declared that his 
young master was the greatest man that ever lived. 
'*Is he greater than Henry Clay?" *'Yas, sir." 
''Greater than General Jackson?" "Yas, sir." "Well, 
come now, Uncle Ephraim, you wcn't say that he Is 
greater than the Almighty?" Uncle Ephraim was 
stumped for a moment. "I won' say dat, sah; no, sah; 
but he ber'y young yit." Kentucky may not be all 
that Massachusetts is; but Kentucky is "ber'y young 
yit!" 

You have here the accretions of nearly three centu- 
ries of thinking and doing. A single century ago the 
hunters of Kentucky were threading their way by the 
light of pine-knot and rifle-flash through the trackless 
canebrake and the perilous forest to plant the flag 
which you worship and I adore upon the first stage of 
Its westward journey around the world. During 
that War of Sections which extinguished African sla- 
very and created a Nation, Massachusetts was united 
to a man. Kentucky was so divided that she sent an 
equal number of soldiers Into both of the contending 
413 



The Compromises of Life 

armies. Throughout the period succeeding the chaos 
of that great upheaval, while Massachusetts stood off 
at long range and took a speculative crack at all crea- 
tion, Kentucky had to grapple with its realities: to 
bind up the wounds of the body-corporate; to recover 
the equipoise of the body-politic; to bury a lost cause 
and to repair the breaches among the combatants. We 
did it. We are still doing what is left of it for us to 
do. And, though we lack somewhat of the wealth 
which enables you to wish for a thing and to have it, 
and, perhaps, the training and methods of order which 
have come down to you from those blody riots in which 
you will not deny that your fathers engaged — at Lex- 
ington and Concord and Bunker Hill — ^yea, in the 
streets of this very town — we are getting there, and, 
let me repeat, Kentucky is young yet. 

Not so young, however, that long before many of 
us here present were born she was not old enough to 
go partners with Massachusetts to help the manufac- 
turers fleece the farmers under the pretension that high 
protective duties would develop our infant industries 
and make everybody rich. 

I beg you will not be alarmed. I am not going to 
discuss the Tariff. Twenty-five years ago I ventured 
in a modest Democratic platform, and in other simple, 
childlike ways, to advance the theory that "Custom- 
house taxation," and I might have added all taxation, 
"shall be for revenue only" ; in other words, that the 
414 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

Government has no constitutional right nor power in 
equity to levy a dollar of taxation except for its own 
support, and that, when the sum required has been ob- 
tained, the tax shall stop. They called me names. 
They said I was a revolutionist. They even went the 
length of intimating that I was a Radical, and that, 
you know, down our way, is equivalent to telling 
a man he is a son-of-a-gun from Boston! Worse 
than all, I was heralded and stigmatized as a Free 
Trader. Hoary old infant industries, exuding the 
oleaginous substance of subsidy out of every pore, 
climbed upon their haunches and with tears in their 
eyes exclaimed, ''What, would you deprive us children 
not only of our pap, but take from us the means of aid- 
ing the poor workingman to earn a living?" Being a 
person of tender sensibilities there were times when I 
wanted to creep off somewhere and weep. Lo! the 
scene shifts, and what do I see? I see the Republican 
party, which was so aghast at the old-fashioned, allo- 
pathic treatment I prescribed, coming out as a full- 
fledged Free Trader on the homoeopathic plan; its 
hands full of protocolic pill-boxes loaded with Reci- 
procity capsules; each capsule nicely sugared to suit 
the fancy of such infants as accept the treatment, each 
pill-box bearing the old reliable Protectionist label! 

I should be disingenuous if I affected surprise. In- 
deed, the event fulfils a prophecy of my own. Many 
years ago, talking to a company of manufacturers at 
415 



The Compromises of Life 

Pittsburg, I declared that the day was not far distant 
when Pennsylvania would be for Free Trade, while a 
Protectionist party would be growing in Kentucky; 
that with plants perfected, with trade-marks fixed, and 
patents secure, Pennsylvania, seeking cheaper processes 
and wider markets, would say, "Away with the Tariff," 
while the owners of raw material, the coal barons, and 
the iron lords of Kentucky, would cry out, "Hold on, 
we don't want the robbing to stop until we have got our 
share of it." 

I have lived to see — and I do not deny Protectionism 
its share of the credit — my contention being that it was 
bound to come and might have been had cheaper — I 
have lived to see the American manufacturer able to 
meet this foreign rival in every neutral market In Chris- 
tendom, sure at least of recovering and controlling 
those markets that geographically belong to him; be- 
cause, from a collar-button to a locomotive, the finished 
product of the American manufacturer to-day beats the 
world. 

And this leads me to ask, if all of us are to turn 
Free Traders, where Is the revenue needful to support 
the Government — economically administered, mind 
you, economically administered! — to come from? We 
are barred direct taxation. Henry George being dead, 
and Tom Johnson alone surviving, Massachusetts, the 
bell-wether of Innovation, will have to wrestle with 
the Single Tax problem even as long as she wrestled 
416 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

with the problem of Abolition; and, meanwhile, some- 
how, the Government must live. Is it possible that, 
being a conservative philosopher and a responsible jour- 
nalist, I must go back upon my own progeny, cross my 
own footprints, and become the champion of a revenue 
tariff with "incidental protection" enough to supply 
our poor President, and his advisers, and our poor Con- 
gress, and other of our impecunious employes in the 
public service with the means of keeping out of the 
poor-house? Shall there be another scandal about an- 
other liaison between Massachusetts and Kentucky, an- 
other league between the Puritan and the blackleg, 
another era of bargain, intrigue, and corruption as a 
consequence of our forgathering here to-night? Can 
it be that it was for this you would lure the Star-eyed 
one away from the cold pedestal, whereon, like Niobe, 
she stands, all tears, to these gilded halls and festive 
scenes? I was warned before I left home that "those 
Yankees are mighty cute," and I am afraid that, when 
I get back, the wise ones will shake their heads and 
wonder what kind of walking it was between Boston 
Common and the head-waters of the Beargrass! 

Forgive the levity. But what a comedy the thing 
we call Government, what a humbug the thing we call 
Politics! And yet, after all, how inevitable! I have 
seen some real battles in my time; but more sham bat- 
tles, and I do declare that I much prefer the sham bat- 
tles to the real battles. I shall always contend that 
417 



The Compromises of Life 

politics is not war ; that party lines are not lines of bat- 
tle. I believe that we shall never approach the ideal 
in Government until we have forced public men to 
speak the truth and hew to the line in public affairs, 
even as in private affairs, the same laws of honor hold- 
ing good in both ; and, while I would no more exclude 
sentiment than I would stop the circulation of blood, 
many lessons of dear-bought experience admonish me 
that we are as a rule nearest to being in error when 
we are most positive and emphatic; that grievous in- 
justice and injury are perpetrated by the misrepresen- 
tation and abuse which are so freely visited upon pub- 
lic men for no other cause, or offence, than a difference 
of opinion; and that intolerance, the devil's hand- 
maiden, in our private relations, embraces the sum of 
all viciousness in the affairs of Church and State. 

Among men of sense and judgment, of heart and 
conscience, the subjects of real difference must needs 
be few and infrequent. Even these may be often ac- 
commodated without hurt to any interest, all govern- 
ment being more or less a bundle of compromises. It 
is that we do in the aggregate what no one of us would 
dream of doing in severalty; the point turning perhaps 
upon the division of responsibility, but more upon the 
pressure which in excited times the wrong-headed and 
stout of will impose upon the more moderate, the bet- 
ter-tempered, and better-advised. The Press — partic- 
ularly the Yellow Press — is doing a noble work toward 
418 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

the correction of this evil ; because already people are 
beginning to believe nothing they read in the newspa- 
pers, and, after awhile, tiring of an endless, daily cir- 
cuit of misinformation, they will begin to demand a 
journalism less interesting and more trustworthy; and, 
believe me, whenever they make this requisition — 
whenever they discriminate between the organ of fact 
and the organ of fancy — there shall not be wanting 
editors who will prefer to grow rich by telling the truth 
than to die poor telling lies. We may not have reached 
yet the summit of human perfectibility, where we can 
hold our own with the merchants of Boston, but even 
among the members of my profession the self-sacri- 
ficing spirit lives apace, and the time will come when 
the worst of us will scorn the scoop that is no longer 
profitable ! 

You have been told, and many of you doubtless be- 
lieve, that life is less secure in Kentucky than in 
China, or even in Chicago ; and but a little while ago a 
Kentucky mother was represented as thanking the One 
Above that her boy was bravely fighting in the Philip- 
pines instead of having to face the perils of the deadly 
roof-tree at home. You have been told that justice 
cannot be had in our courts of law. You have been 
told that, because we have some surviving prejudice 
against bringing the black man and brother into the 
bosom of our families, we are his enemies and would 
take unfair advantage of his ignorance and poverty. 
419 



The Compromises of Life 

None of these things is true. They are the figments of 
a bigotry that obstinately refuses to see both sides. 
There is an equal quantum of human nature in Ken- 
tucky and in Massachusetts. There are as many 
church-bells in the Bluegrass country as in the Bay 
State country, and they send the same sweet notes to 
Heaven and sound exactly alike. The one commu- 
nity, like the other, may be trusted to do its part by 
humanity and its duty to the State; nor can the one 
help the other except by generous allowance for in- 
firmities that under the same conditions are common to 
both, and by manly sympathy in the cause of liberty 
and truth, which was, and is, and ever shall be, the 
glory of our whole country and the fulfilment, under 
God, of its sublime destiny. 

We live in untoward times. We have witnessed 
wondrous things. With the passing away of the old 
problems, new problems confront us. Modern inven- 
tion has smashed the clock and pitched the geography 
into the sea. The map of the world, so completely al- 
tered that it really begins to look like the Fourth of 
July, lends itself as a telescope to the point of view. 
Concentration is becoming the universal demand, the 
survival of the fittest the prevailing law. The idio- 
syncrasy of the nineteenth century was liberty. The 
idiosyncrasy of the twentieth century is markets. Be 
it ours to look to it that we steer betwen the two ex- 
tremes of commercialism and anarchism, for, if we have 
420 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

not come to the heritage which God and Nature and 
the providence of our fathers stored up for us, to em- 
ploy it in good works, we had better not come to it at 
all. 

Thoughtful Americans, true to the instincts of their 
manhood and their racehood, answering the promptings 
of an ever-watchful patriotism ; carrying in their hearts 
the principles of that inspired Declaration to which 
their country owes its being as one among the nations 
of the earth; carrying in their minds the limitations 
of that matchless Constitution to which their Govern- 
ment owes its stability and its power; conscientious, 
earnest Americans, whether they dwell in Massachu- 
setts or in Kentucky, cannot look without concern upon 
the peculiar dangers that assail us as we plough through 
the treacherous waters which, for all our boasted deep- 
sea soundings, threaten to engulf the ship of state, 
and, along with it, the old-fashioned lessons of econ- 
omy, the simple preachments of freedom and virtue in 
which those fathers thought they laid the keel and 
raised the bulwarks of our great Republic. 

That which we call Expansion — coveted by some, 
deplored and dreaded by others — is a fact. The new- 
ly acquired territories are with us, and they are with 
us to stay; a century hence the flag will be floating 
where it now floats, unless some power stronger than 
we are ourselves turns up to drive us out. The very 
thought of the vista thus opened to us should give us 
421 



The Compromises of Life 

pause, should chasten and make us humble in the sight 
of Heaven, should appal us with the magnitude and 
multitude of its responsibilities. If we are to turn the 
opportunities they embody only to the account of our 
avarice and pride ; if we are to see in them only the ad- 
vancement of our private fortunes, at the expense of 
the public duty and honor; if we are to tickle away 
our consciousness of wrong-doing with insincere plati- 
tudes about religion and civilization, and to soothe our 
conscience, while we rob and slay the helpless, with the 
conceits of a self-deluding national vanity, then it had 
been well for us, and for our c^Udren, and our chil- 
dren's children that Dewey had sailed away, though 
he had sailed without compass, or rudder, or objective 
point, into the night of everlasting mystery and obliv- 
ion. But I believe nothing of the kind. I believe we 
shall prove a contradiction to all the bad examples of 
history, to all the warning voices of philosophy, to all 
the homely precepts of that conservatism which, found- 
ed in the truest love of country, yet takes no account of 
the revolution wrought by modern contrivance upon 
the character and movements of mankind. I believe 
that the American Union came among the nations 
even as the Christ came among the sons of men. I 
believe that Constitutional Freedom, according to the 
charter of American liberty, is to government what 
Christianity is to religion; and, so believing, I would 
apply the principles and precedents of that charter to 
422 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

the administration of the affairs of the outlying regions 
and peoples come to us as a consequence of the war 
with Spain precisely as they were applied to the terri- 
tories purchased of France and acquired of Mexico ; not 
merely guaranteeing to them the same uniformity of 
laws which the Constitution ordains in the States of 
the Union, but rearing among them kindred institu- 
tions, essential not less to our safety and dignity than 
to their prosperity and happiness. Entertaining no 
doubt that this view will prevail in the final disposi- 
tion, my optimism is as unquenchable as my Repub- 
licanism; and both forecast in my mind's eye centuries 
of greatness and glory for us as a nation and as a 
people. 

We are upon the ascending, not the descending 
scale of national and popular development. We arc 
to recreate out of the racial agglomerations which 
have found lodgment here a new species and a better 
species of men and women. We are to revitalize the 
primitive religion, with its often misleading theologies, 
into a new and practical system of life and thought, of 
universal religion, to which the Declaration of Inde- 
dendence, the Constitution of the United States, and 
the Sermon on the Mount of Olives shall furnish the 
inspiration and the key-note, to the end that all lands 
and all tribes shall teem with the love of man and the 
glory of the Lord. We are passing, it may be, through 
an era of acquisition and mediocrity, a formative era, 
423 



The Compromises ot Life 

but we have made and are making progress; and, in 
spite of the threats of Mammon, the perils that en- 
viron the excess of luxury and v^^ealth, in spite of the 
viciousness and the greed, we shall reach a point at 
last where money will be so plentiful, its uses so lim- 
ited and defined, that it will have no longer any power 
to corrupt. 

Although this is an association of merchants, and 
Boston merchants at that — professedly committed to 
the principle that "business is business" — sometimes 
though wrongfully accused of "gainefulle pillage" — I 
am sure that there is no one amongst us who does not 
feel that the unscrupulous application of money on 
every hand has been and still is the darkest cloud upon 
our moral horizon, the lion across our highway, stand- 
ing just at the fork of the roads, one of which leads 
up patriotic steeps of fame and glory, the other down 
into the abysses of plutocracy, opening his ferocious 
jaws and licking his bloody lips to swallow up all that 
is great and noble in the national life. 

The Hercules who strangles that lion shall be called 
blessed in the land, and this leads me to take note of 
the presence with us here to-night of a Hercules, who 
is said to know more about that lion than any other 
Hercules, living or dead. I mean, of course, the Chair- 
man of the National Committee of one of the two 
great parties contending for the sovereignty of the 
people, the distinguished, the eminent Senator, the hon- 
424 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

ored neighbor and friend who sits near me. Though 
not a Kentuckian himself, he has a brother who came 
to Kentucky to bear away upon the wings of love one 
of our fairest daughters. According to the law of the 
vicinage down our way, the circumstance makes us 
"kind o' kin," as the saying is, and by that token I 
have a proposition to submit to him. If he accepts it, 
I will go bail that my party associates ratify my act. 

He knows and I know how hard it is to raise money 
even for the legitimate purposes of a national cam- 
paign. Yet many people imagine that more or less it 
is merely to give the skillet an extra shake or two. 
Those who have least actual familiarity with money 
are pronest to thinking of millions as millionnaires 
think of pennies. Thousands of good people believe 
that for everybody except themselves money grows on 
bushes, and that all elections are knocked down to the 
highest bidder. The bare fact is lowering both to our 
political standards and our standards of morality. 
The mere statement is in a sense degrading. Never- 
theless, it is undoubtedly true that money is as essen- 
tial to political battles as powder and ball to actual 
battles, and the proposition I have to submit to my 
friend, the Senator from Ohio, is that he and I come 
to an agreement about what sum of money the two 
organizations will require honestly to tide them 
through to the next Presidential election ; that we raise 
this sum on a joint note and divide the proceeds equally; 
425 



The Compromises of Life 

and that, when the election is over, the party carry- 
ing the country shall pay the note! If it be an induce- 
ment, I will further agree that the money to be raised 
shall be of standard weight and value, expressed in 
gold and silver and paper convertible into either at the 
will of the holder. 

But, whether this or some other plan be reached to 
abridge the use of money in elections, I do not doubt 
that we shall in the end weather the breakers of plu- 
tocracy. 

It is true that, possessed of no great aristocratic 
titles, or patents of nobility, money becomes, and will 
probably remain, the simplest and readiest of all our 
standards of measurement. Yet, even now, it is grown 
such a drug in the market, that some far-seeing men, 
finding it so plentiful and easy to get, are giving it 
away in sacks and baskets. Time will show that its 
value is relative, and that after the actual needs of 
life it will buy nothing that wise men will think worth 
having at the cost either of their conscience or their 
credit. Give me the right — not in the character of an 
abstraction, so often misleading to theorists and doc- 
trinaires — not as a flash of fancy, so often irradiating 
the dreams of the visionary with its illusory hopes — 
but the plain, simple right in plain and simple things, 
obvious to the reasonable and the fair-minded, arising 
out of the common-sense and common honesty of the 
common people, relating to the actualities of govern- 
426 



Reciprocity and Expansion 

ment and life, and driving home to the business and 
bosoms of men — and I care not for the golden con- 
tents of all the ''bar'ls" that were ever tapped by sor- 
did ambition, or consecrated themselves as rich liba- 
tions on the altars of opulent partyism. 

The people, as a people, can never be corrupted. 
The whole history of a hundred years of constitutional 
government in America, the i.ioral lesson and the ex- 
perience of all our parties, may be told in a single sen- 
tence, that, when any political organism, grown over- 
confident by its successes and faithless to its duty, 
thinks it has the world in a sling, public opinion just 
rears back on its hind legs and kicks it out. In that 
faith I rest my hope of the future of the country; sure 
that in the long run wrong cannot prosper, and that 
an enlightened public opinion is a certain cure for 
every ill. 

Gentlemen, Kentucky salutes Massachusetts! Come 
and see us! You shall find the latch-string always 
hanging outside the door! 



427 



FAREWELL TO THE KENTUCKY 
TROOPS * 

I take it for granted that there is no one of you 
who has enlisted for a soldier who does not want to be 
a soldier and who has not resolved to be a soldier. 
That much at least is the heritage of the Kentuckian. 
But even in soldiership there is a right way and a wrong 
way. The famous Confederate General Forrest said 
of war that ''it means fighting and fighting means kill- 
ing." He also said of success in battle that it is "get- 
ting there first with the most men." Some of us are 
old enough to remember the delusion that once had a 
certain vogue among the unthinking that one South- 
erner could whip six Yankees. We got bravely over 
that; and now that we are all Yankees, let it not be 
imagined that one Yankee can whip six Spaniards. It 
is always better to overrate than to underrate the en- 
emy. He fights best who fights truest. He fights best 
who knows why he fights and for what he fights, and 
who, when he goes under fire, says to himself, *'I have 
but one time to die, and, please God, I am as ready 
now as ever I shall be." The Irish have a couplet 
which declares: 

♦Lexington, Ky., Friday, May 27, 1898. 
428 



Farewell to the Kentucky Troops 

"Not man, nor monarch, half so proud 
As he whose flag becomes his shroud." 



That is only another way of repeating the old Latin 
heroic that it is sweet to die for one's country. 

You are about to make history. It may prove that 
this will not be history merely repeating itself. For 
the first time since the Crusades war has been levied 
for no cause of a purely material kind, and with no 
selfish purpose. I scarcely like the shibboleth "Remem- 
ber the Maine." It seems to me too revengeful to be 
quite worthy. I do not forget the circumstance to 
which it owes its origin. The scene of that awful 
tragedy under the shadow of Morro Castle is yet be- 
fore my eyes. I can see, as I close them, the very faces 
of our murdered sailors with the ghastliness of death 
upon them. But I also see the myriads of starving men, 
women, and children, ruthlessly sacrificed to feed the 
lust and to fill the pockets of professional plunderers 
masquerading in Cuba as Spanish officers and gentle- 
men. Behind them I see three centuries of wanton pil- 
lage, of frightful corruption, of cruelty unsurpassed in 
human annals. The time was long ago come for some 
great power to stretch forth its hand, to interpose its 
authority, and to say to the world, "This barbarism 
shall stop." What power except that of the United 
States was to do this ? Cuba is our next-door neighbor. 
Time out of mind these atrocities have been perpetrated 
429 



The Compromises of Life 

before our eyes. While Spain has required us to spend 
millions of money policing our coasts against the fili- 
busters, she has shown herself unable, or unwilling, in 
our protection, to police one of her own harbors. Was 
this to go on forever? You yourselves are the answer 
to the question. 

You are going to fight a battle waged by man for 
man. You are going therefore in the name of that 
Christ who died for men. You are going to fight a 
battle for the glory of God and your native land. You 
are going, therefore, under a flag which, the symbol 
at once of freedom and humanity, and having God's 
blessing upon it, has never yet known defeat. Look to 
it that you carry yourselves as soldiers equally of the 
cross and of the flag. 

No man can be a good soldier who is not at heart a 
good man. While courage in battle is the first essen- 
tial of a good soldier, it is by no means the only essen- 
tial, for close along with it come endurance under trial 
and moderation in action. Nor is the best courage the 
absence of fear. Fearlessness, indeed, is a virtue rather 
comfortable to him that hath it than commendable by 
the rest of us, because no man deserves credit for 
what was born to him and for what he cannot help. 
Very, very few possess it. When cannon begin to 
growl, grim watchdogs whose bark is something worse 
than their bite, and bullets like birds of evil omen be- 
gin to sing their song of death, the greater number of 
430 



Farewell to the Kentucky Troops 

you will find yourselves very sensible of danger. Do 
not mistake this apprehension for cowardice. It is no 
such thing. Self-possession in the presence of danger 
is the truest courage, and he is the bravest soldier who 
keeps his head, who knows perfectly the right thing to 
do, and who does it, when, frightened out of his boots, 
his legs would fain carry him away. It is the sense of 
duty which will make you men ; duty to the flag above 
you; duty to constituted authority; duty to country 
and honor, and to those dear ones at home who will 
follow you with ever-tearful, but with ever-brighten- 
ing eyes. 

After what I have said it will be superfluous to add 
that I believe in this war. I believe in it with all my 
mind and with all my soul. If ever there was a jus- 
tified war it is this. Though it should rob me of lives 
that are dearer to me than my own life, I shall believe 
it conceived in a holy spirit, sanctified by Heaven, and 
directed toward the advancement and the enlargement 
of a benign civilization. 

In these warlike spectacles everywhere manifest, it 
has already united us as nothing else could have united 
us — emancipated both sections of the Union from the 
mistaken impression that we ever were, or ever could 
be, anything else than one people. In the brilliant 
achievement of that typical Green Mountain boy on 
the other side of the globe, it has already exploited us as 
a naval power, and, as you yourselves shall show, it will 
431 



The Compromises of Life 

presently demonstrate us no less a military power, be- 
fore whose legions the enemies of liberty and humanity 
will do well to look before they leap. Surely, these 
were consummations devoutly to be wished. They are 
worth all the war has cost us, or will cost us. I know 
what war means. I have seen it in all its horrors and 
terrors. But there is something even worse than war. 
To become a nation, not only of shop-keepers, but of 
dishonest shop-keepers; to wear away our lives beat- 
ing one another out of a few degrading dollars the 
more or the less; to find in the boasted arts of peace 
nothing nobler than the piling up of riches, and the 
gratification of propensities growing more and more 
ignoble with increasing luxury and wealth; and, 
finally, through the systematic violation of natural 
laws and amid artificial class distinctions and hideous 
contrasts of life, to emasculate the Anglo-Saxon species 
in America — these things seem to me even worse than 
war. We have had thirty-three years of peace ; and we 
seemed to be approaching perilously near domestic con- 
ditions appalling to contemplate. This peace has now 
been broken. We are in the midst of war, and war is 
a great educator. 

It is at one and the same time a university course 
and a career ; and he who comes out of the fiery ordeal 
with honor, though he come upon crutches, brings with 
him a degree no college can confer. It is for you not 
alone to meet the requirements of the service ; not alone 
432 



Farewell to the Kentucky Troops 

to vindicate your motives in taking the field; but to 
learn, as your lives pass through the crucible of honor- 
able w^ar, how to retrieve the mistakes of your genera- 
tion, so that when you return victors to your homes 
and become citizens again, you may turn back the tide 
of evil counsels and wicked passions which was begin- 
ning to run to the centre of the stream, making men to 
love money more than honor, to put their pockets above 
their conscience and their party above their country. 
War leaves no man where it found him; but, if he be 
a true man, it will make him a better man. 

I do not doubt the result of this war. But I should 
whisper into your ear the blandishments of a most mis- 
leading optimism if I should promise you that it will 
be all play and no work, all parade and no danger. He 
who thinks so should remain at home. Under the best 
conditions a soldier's life is a hard life. As one who 
has seen it under its worst conditions, let me at least 
encourage you with the assurance that you are not 
likely to meet anything quite so hard as your fathers 
met four or five and thirty years ago. Of course, it 
should go without saying that we were better men than 
you can hope to be. That much is the old man's priv- 
ilege as it is his boast, and, since the satisfaction of his 
vanity costs you nothing, and is in a sense a tribute to 
your own conceit, it may perchance strengthen you in 
the moment of peril, console you in the moment of pri- 
vation, and, as in fancy you look back and see him por- 
433 



The Compromises of Life 

ing over the latest tidings from the front, it may nerve 
you for the combat and make you braver soldiers and 
better men. 

I will not insult you by intimating that you must 
not be afraid of fighting, for that is what you came 
for; that is your business; that is, as the children say, 
where you live. But let me suggest that you be not 
afraid of work. Don't be afraid of marching and 
mounting guard. Don't be afraid of cooking your 
victuals, if you are fortunate enough to have any vict- 
uals to cook, or of washing your clothes — even of 
washing yourselves — in case you happen to be camped 
near a running stream. Don't be afraid of being for- 
gotten or neglected. Don't be afraid of not getting 
enough campaigning. Above all, don't be afraid of 
foreign intervention. If you will take care of the 
Spaniards, I will engage, as Prince Bismarck is older 
than I am, to take care of him, and maybe of his young 
master, and, incidentally, while you are away, to look 
after Kentucky, and Europe, and Asia, and Africa! 
In short, dear boys, and may I not call you fellow-sol- 
diers, the sum total of it is stated in a single sentence: 
Do your duty. 

Obedience, submission, is the first, and, perhaps, the 
hardest of the soldier's duties. If officers seem capri- 
cious, or tyrannical, do your duty. It will come round 
all right. If the powers that be seem partisan, or un- 
fair, do your duty. The end will justify you. Be 
434 



Farewell to the Kentucky Troops 

sure that, in the long run, the man who does his duty- 
passes beyond the reach of wrong; for, as there is a 
God who saith, ''Vengeance is mine — I will repay," so 
is there a people, whose voice is the voice of God, who 
will visit upon those that would convert the places of 
trust which they chance to hold into places of private 
or political advantage, a punishment as complete as it 
is certain, as blighting as it is overwhelming. 

With respect to the surgical examinations, Colonel 
Castleman made a remark the other day which greatly 
impressed me. He said the Government seemed to 
want machines instead of soldiers. That was well 
said. An army must, indeed, be a machine. But the 
soldiers which make up an army must be men. The 
war between the sections was prolonged during four 
years of unexampled battle because the soldiers who 
fought it were men and not machines. In the army 
with which all too imperfectly I served, there was a 
private soldier who enlisted with the very first in 1861 ; 
he was a young lawyer, come with distinction from one 
of the greatest of the schools; a scholar and a man of 
genius. He might have had the captaincy of his com- 
pany, and, later on, been one of the field officers of his 
regiment. He refused a commission, shouldered his 
musket, and footed it with the boys. He was in every 
battle. More than once upon the field exigencies re- 
quired him to command considerable numbers of men; 
but he persistently declined promotion. Though but 
435 



The Compromises of Life 

a private in the ranks, he became conspicuous in 
the army. I once asked him why it was that he 
courted obscurity, and he said that his ambitions were 
not of the military sort, beyond the doing of his duty; 
that he had enlisted from a sense of duty, and duty 
alone; that he expected the war at some time to end, 
and when it was over he wanted to be ready for the 
work of civil life, and, particularly, for the work of his 
profession, which greatly concerned him; and that, 
free from the responsibilities and cares of a command, 
he was able to continue his studies, to trim his lamp 
and keep it bright, and, in many ways, while serving 
his own conceptions, to set an example and to do good 
among his immediate surroundings. He fell in front 
of Atlanta ; and, when they lifted his lifeless body from 
the earth, his hands clung to a musket and a little vol- 
ume of Greek verse fell from his knapsack. There is 
nothing upon the simple stone that marks his resting- 
place but the inscription, "Wright Smith Hackett," 
but thirty years ago there were many thousands of 
brave men who knew how much that name stood for! 
In the nature of the case but few of you can hope 
to attain to great commands, or to acquire exceptional 
distinction. In the end most of you must lay aside 
your uniforms and resume the habiliments of civil life. 
But there is no one of you who cannot do his duty, 
and, doing his duty, cannot be proud and happy. A 
neighbor of mine came to see me the other day to ask 
436 



Farewell to the Kentucky Troops 

me to exert my supposed Influence in getting his son a 
commission. I assured him that I have no Influence. 
"But," said I, "I have two sons carrying muskets In 
the ranks — sons whom I dearly love — but for whose 
advancement I shall not put forth the slightest effort. 
It Is enough for me to know that they are serving their 
country, and If It pleases God to bring them back to 
their mother and me safe and sound, I shall bless His 
name as long as I live." 

In that prayer let me Include each and every one of 
you ; though I would rather see my boys, and each and 
every one of you, lying by the side of that brave and 
lovely sailor lad whom North Carolina has just given 
up as Heaven's first sacrifice upon the altars of the 
Nation and Mankind, than that one feather should be 
plucked from the eagle's wing, or a syllable of re- 
proach he justly cast upon the name and fame of our 
dear Kentucky! 



437 



BLOOD THICKER THAN WATER* 

I want to talk you to-night, not as a Democrat to 
Republicans, but as an American to Americans. I have 
always resisted and resented the idea that party lines 
are lines of battle ; that party issues are proclamations of 
war. Our Government rests upon the theory that we 
are equal shareholders in a common property. Touch- 
ing the administration of this property there will always 
exist honest differences of opinion. Good citizenship 
imposes upon each of us the duty of entertaining his own 
convictions and of living up to them; but he becomes 
little other than a bigot who thinks more of himself on 
this account, and loves his neighbor less, because that 
neighbor, exercising the same right, does the same thing. 

April 13, 1 86 1, Sumter fell. April 9, 1865, Lee sur- 
rendered. The four years intervening between those 
dates, marking the beginning and the end of the most 
momentous struggle of modern times, witnessed such an 
outpouring of blood and treasure, such displays of cour- 
age and endurance, such sacrifices for opinion's sake, as 
stagger human credulity and beggar alike the powers of 

* A response to the toast " Peace Between the Sections," Hamilton 
Club Banquet, Auditorium, Chicago, April 9, 1903. 

438 



Blood Thicker than Water 

computation and recapitulation. Never in any preced- 
ing war was there so little of public wrong, so much of 
private generosity ; nor ever were the results of any war 
so complete and final. Elsewhere upon the surface of 
the earth traces may yet be seen, sometimes yet lurking 
in the hearts of men sensibilities may be found, of strifes, 
religious or racial, international or civil, one, two, and 
three centuries agone; in America not a vestige except 
what springs from associated charities and reciprocal 
ministrations of patriotism and benevolence. Northern 
men and women mark and decorate the last resting- 
place of Southern soldiers who died In Federal prisons. 
Confederate officers sit In both Houses of Congress and 
upon the bench of the national judiciary, and have re- 
peatedly served in presidential cabinets and represented 
the country abroad. At least two Confederate generals 
wear the uniform of the United States army, glad to be 
assured that the flag which waved over their cradles 
shall wave over their graves. The Chief Magistrate of 
the United States is half a Southerner and all a rebel ; 
God bless him, and may the Lord keep him in the path 
of wisdom and virtue! Already over the fireside of 
many a home hang the swords of the grandfather who 
wore the blue and the grandfather who wore the gray, 
placed there by pious hands as priceless memorials of 
love and valor, crossed at last in the everlasting peace of 
a reunited family. 

To what do we owe these miracles of enlightened 
439 



The Compromises of Life 

progress? Mainly to the good sense and good feeling, 
the rich, red blood of American manhood ; partly to the 
recognition by reflecting and generous minds that 
neither party to that great sectional conflict had all the 
right of it, its antagonist all the wrong. On this point 
I can speak with tolerable assurance. I belonged to 
that segment of conservative men in the South who 
loved the Union and did not accept either the gospel of 
African slavery or the dogma of secession. The debate 
ended, the god of battle invoked to settle what had in- 
deed proved an irrepressible conflict, we went with our 
own side. But four years later, when, in 1865, all that 
we had feared in 1861 was actually come to pass, we 
needed no act of Congress either for our redemption or 
reconstruction. 

The better to illustrate the situation, let me relate an 
incident that happened in Tennessee toward the close 
of the war. The Union general, Lovell Rousseau, of 
Kentucky, found himself encamped on the farm of 
Meredith Gentry, a famous orator of the old Whig 
party. Gentiy had been Rousseau's file-leader, his 
political idol, a Whig of Whigs, a Unionist of Union- 
ists; but, swallowed by the movements of the time, he 
had allowed his district, early in 1862, to elect him to 
the Confederate Congress. He went to Richmond, 
found himself out of place there, did not like it, and 
returned home, where, among his books, under his vine 
and fig-tree, he awaited the inevitable. Rousseau, his 
440 



Blood Thicker than Water 

heart overflowing with unquenched affection, thought 
he> would have a bit of fun with his friend. He caused 
a feast to be prepared, invited all the good fellows he 
could reach, and sent a file of soldiers, with a sergeant 
and an order of arrest, to fetch Gentry into camp. It 
was all real to the imaginary captive. Brought into 
the presence of the Federal general, and what appeared 
to be a drum-head court-martial, the old statesman drew 
himself to his full height, and in sonorous but broken 
tones he said: "General Rousseau, you know that I 
loved the Union. Upon the altars of the Union I 
poured out the dearest aspirations of my young man- 
hood. I grew gray in the service. Finally, the stern- 
wheel steambot Secession came along. I saw first 
one neighbor, then another neighbor, get aboard, and, 
when all were aboard except me, and I stood alone upon 
the shore, and they were about to haul in the gang- 
plank, I cried: 'Hold on, boys; I will go with you, if 
you go to hell 1' " 

I chanced to be in Europe a little while after the war. 
Such trifling distinctions as Federal and Confederate 
were unknown. All of us were Yankees. Then and 
there, I took a bee line in the direction of the bunting, 
and have been snuggling beneath its folds from that day 
to this. I did not believe in slavery. I did not believe 
in secession. Heavens, if I had — ! But what is the 
use speculating about inconjectural possibilities? The 
doctrine of secession did not originate at the South, but 
441 



The Compromises of Life 

at the North; it was not the South that brought the 
Negro from Africa, but the North. In the very begin- 
ning the seeds of dissolution were sown. The makers of 
the Constitution left the exact relations of the Federal 
Government to the States and of the States to the Fed- 
eral Government open to a double construction. In 
claiming thence the right to secede, Yancey followed 
after Pickering, Jefferson Davis after Gouverneur Mor- 
ris. Curiously enough, this right of secession, such as 
it may be, stands yet in the Constitution unchallenged 
and unabridged. You said by act of Congress that the 
black man should be a white man. You confiscated the 
debts and the money of the Confederacy. But you left 
in the Constitution that fatal double construction to 
which, along with slavery, we owed all our trouble, 
and there it is to-day, so that if I want to take Kentucky 
and go out of the Union, there is no statute to hinder 
me, and, though you may make it uncomfortable for me, 
you cannot find the law to hang me for treason. I beg 
that you will not be disturbed. I am not going to do it. 
I know that there are many Northern statesmen, con- 
scientious and learned, who cannot assent to this view. 
They do not think it best to accept so light an estimate 
of what they regard as a great crime. But why not? 
Recalling Burke's aphorism touching his inability to 
draft an indictment of an entire people — even though 
the subjects of a King — how may ten millions of free 
men be criminally arraigned by twenty millions of their 
442 



Blood Thicker than Water 

fellow-citizens because of the consequences of an honest 
difference of Constitutional construction, embracing 
some of the foremost jurists, some of the purest patriots, 
from Josiah Quincy and John C. Calhoun to Alexander 
H. Stephens and Salmon P. Chase? Why should the 
North want to draw such an indictment of the South ? 
The North won all, the South lost all. No one of the 
principals survives. Millions of stalwart Americans 
have been born and have reached manhood — many of 
them middle age — since the last shot was fired in that 
conflict. Some of them serve in the army and some of 
them in the navy. Some of them go to the length of 
describing themselves as "Veterans of the Spanish 
War." All of them are ready, eager to answer the call 
of their country. Why should any thoughtful, patriotic 
American want to put a blot upon the family escutcheon 
of these Americans? Why should any thoughtful, 
patriotic American seek to discriminate between any 
body of upright and brave Americans, who did their 
duty as God gave them the light to see it ? What good 
reason can any thoughtful, patriotic American give for 
the wish to establish an historic line, blacklisting the 
people of a section, who met defeat so manfully and 
have taken upon themselves the renewed obligations of 
citizenship so loyally ? 

I did not come here to-night to exploit myself, or to 
join in the exchange of Immaterial compliments, how- 
ever agreeable. I came because I thought I might con- 
443 



The Compromises of Life 

tribute something to the common stock of information 
touching the present relations of the North and the 
South. There is already "peace between the sections." 
Never since the creation of the Government has there 
been a greater uniformity, a deeper effusion of national 
sentiment. We are not merely a united people, we are 
a homogeneous people. Mississippi and Massachusetts 
are convertible terms, and it needs only a few weeks, 
and a change of raiment, to convert a typical Vermonter 
into a typical Texan. We used to hear a good deal 
about the Puritan and the Cavalier. During our sec- 
tional w^ar the armies of the North were full of Cava- 
lier soldiers, such as Wadsworth and Kearny in the 
East, as McPherson and Custer in the West, while the 
one representative Puritan soldier, Stonewall Jackson, 
served the Confederacy. Many of the greatest families 
in the South proudly trace their origin back to the blood 
and loins of the Pilgrim Fathers. And yet are there 
people at the North, newspapers at the North, that still 
assume for the North the attitude of the imperious con- 
queror, for the South the relation of the suspected cap- 
tive, and we are being constantly warned that if we do 
this, or do not do that, we shall be in danger of the judg- 
ment. 

The justification for this is the political entity, the 

partisan quantity, known as the Solid South. It is, let 

me entreat you to believe, a specious justification. It is 

the fault of the Republican party, not of the white 

444 



Blood Thicker than Water 

people of the Southern States, that the South is solidly 
Democratic. From the death of Lincoln to the advent 
of McKinley the Republican party threw out no 
friendly signal to the whites of the South, made no 
effort to establish itself in the South on any sound, en- 
during basis. It was known to the South only through 
its reconstruction measures, mainly repressive and hos- 
tile, and its local agents, generally extreme, too often 
unclean, employing the negro vote as a simple asset in 
Congress, in Republican national conventions, and in 
the field of the Federal patronage. In most of the 
Southern States there seemed a deliberate plan to trim 
the Republican minority among the whites down to the 
point of just about filling the Federal offices precisely as 
in the old antediluvian days of pristine Democracy, and 
under the lead of that past-grand-master of political 
chicane. General Benjamin F. Butler, the Democratic 
party of New England was trimmed and regulated. 
No thought was given the predilections, the prejudices, 
the interests of the great body of the white population. 
It was years after the war before such men as Meredith 
Gentry were permitted to vote, while their former 
slaves were m.arched in droves to the ballot-box by 
political adventurers sure to misgovern when intrusted 
with power. Even these things might have passed out 
of mind, except that, whenever the chance has arisen, 
the old agitation has been revived by the menace of 
force bills to regulate elections by Federal statute, and 
445 



The Compromises of Life 

measures to reduce the Southern representation In Con- 
gress; all, under the shadow — by reason of the shadow 
— cast by the unconsenting, unoffending black man 
athwart the whole track of American politics from 
Maine to Texas. This brings me to the only apparent 
cause of present disturbance — the bee in our bonnet — 
the fly in our ointment — the everlasting, ever-present 
negro question. 

I grew up to regard the institution of African slavery 
as a monstrous evil. With a gray jacket on my back, I 
abated no part of my abhorrence of it. The war over, 
I fully realized that the negro could not be suspended, 
like Mahomet's coffin, in the nether air, neither fish, 
flesh, nor fowl ; that he must be made a freeman in fact, 
as he was in name; that he must be habilitated to his 
new belongings, and I promptly accepted the three last 
amendments to the Constitution as the treaty of peace 
between the North and the South, and went to work in 
good faith to help carry them out. I fought to remove 
the old black laws from the statute book in Kentucky. 
I fought the Ku-Klux Klan from start to finish. I 
fought in all possible ways to give the black man an 
opportunity to achieve the hopes which, in common with 
many other of his friends, I had formed of him. 

After thirty years of observation, experience, and re- 
flection — always directed from a sympathetic point of 
view — I am forced to agree with the Secretary of War 
that negro suffrage is a failure. It is a failure because 
446 



Blood Thicker than Water 

the Southern blacks are not equal to it. It is a failure 
because the Southern whites will not have it. 

If, making a hot answer to this, some overzealous 
and, as I must think, some mistaken partisan should 
say, we have the power, we have the numbers, and we 
will compel the whites of the South, my answer shall 
be, "You did, and behold what came of it!" And 
then, if my warm-blooded friend should throw up his 
hands in despair, and with a kind of disgust turn 
wearily away, I should continue — "May you not have 
been from the first upon the wrong tack? Is there 
not another outlet to these perplexities, another solu- 
tion of this problem? After all, is not your dis- 
quietude based upon the idea that there are one set 
of moral conditions at the North and another set at 
the South, to which the whole racial trouble is refer- 
able? Believe me, there is no such difference. Re- 
move every white Democrat to-day living in the South 
and replace him with a Northern Republican, and 
twelve months hence the conditions will be the same, 
may be worse, since the Northern Republican would 
not be likely to have either the patience or the per- 
sonal sympathy and knowledge possessed by the native 
Southerner." 

Gentlemen, I appeal to you as Republicans, and 

through you I appeal to the Republicans of the United 

States, to have done with the conceit that unless you 

stand by the black man, that unless you continue him 

447 



The Compromises of Life 

as an issue in partisan politics, injustice will be done 
him. In the bettering of his condition, and in the ac- 
quisition of property, starting with nothing, he has 
made wondrous progress the last five-and-thirty years; 
and, relatively, greater progress at the South than at 
the North. He could not have done this without the 
sympathy and co-operation of the Southern whites. He 
has made little progress in the arts of self-government 
either North or South, because of the agitation which 
has kept him in a state of perpetual excitement, with 
no healthful public opinion to moderate it, and has 
been made the sport and prey of political exigency, 
always selfish, and with respect to him more or less 
visionary and heedless. 

The negro can never become in any beneficent or 
genuine sense an integral and recognized part of the 
body politic except through the forces of evolution, 
which are undoubtedly at work, but which in the 
nature of the case must needs go exceedingly slow. 
Where there is one negro fit for citizenship,, there are 
myriads of negroes wholly unfit. The hot-house 
process has been tried and it has failed. If, invested 
with every right enjoyed by the whites, the blacks, 
gaining in all things else, have brought corruption into 
the suffrage and discredit upon themselves, is it not a 
kind of madness further to press artificial methods, 
which, however justified theoretically from educational 
lookouts in Michigan, Iowa, and Wisconsin, fall help- 
448 



Blood Thicker than Water 

less to the ground in their practical application to the 
semi-barbarous toilers in the cotton-fields and corn- 
lands of Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina? 

I appeal to you equally in what I conceive the true 
interest of the black people along with the white peo- 
ple of the South; nay, and of the North as well, for 
all our interests are indissoluble, interchangeable, and 
that can never be good or bad for one section which 
is not good or bad for the other section. Modern in- 
vention, which has already annihilated time and space, 
is surely erasing sectional lines. It ought not to leave 
so much as a reminiscence of sectional strife. If that 
dread spirit should come again, its evil winds will not 
blow between the North and the South, but between 
the East and the West; the horns of the dilemma pre- 
sented by extremism involving a new irrepressible con- 
flict between capital and labor. May that day never 
come, but in case it does the conservatism of the North 
will need the conservatism of the South. The law-lov- 
ing forces of the North will need the law-breeding in- 
stincts of the South. The Americanism of the North 
will need the Americanism of the South. Then, in- 
deed, shall both sections learn what racial homogeneity 
means and know for certain that blood is thicker than 
water. 

But, gentlemen, let us turn away from the darker 
side of the page to the brighter, on which is em- 
blazoned that blessed legend, "The Constitution and 
449 



The Compromises of Life 

the Union, one, eternal, Indivisible." Behind the 
negro question, behind the question of capital and la- 
bor, stands the government of Washington and Frank- 
lin, which, like the old ship of Zion, has "carried 
many thousands, and shall carry many more"; which, 
like the old ship of Zion, has baffled every tempest, has 
outridden every hurricane; the struggle for existence; 
the foreign war; domestic discord and civil strife; the 
disputed succession — stronger to-day than ever before 
— in the timbers that float her — in the hearts that sail 
her — in the admiration and confidence of human kind 
the wide world over. I have seen too much of the 
past to take many fears for the future. I counsel no 
man to drop the oars and to go to sleep; I urge upon 
each still to keep the watch, still to sit steady in the 
boat; as for myself, I long ago ceased to worry and 
to walk the floor. The mysteries of Providence are 
hidden from you and me; why the negro was brought 
hither from the wilds of Africa and sold into slavery, 
his redemption thence, and all his redemption cost us; 
but, assured that behind these mysteries lay some vast 
design, I feel that God has been always with us and 
is with us now. Why Washington, the patriot. In- 
stead of Lee, the adventurer? Why Lincoln, the seer, 
Instead of Seward, the scholar? If It was not the will 
of Heaven that the Confederacy should fall, that the 
Union should prevail, why were all the accidents of 
the war with the North and against the South, the 
450 



Blood Thicker than Water 

fall of Johnston at the critical moment at Shiloh, the 
death of Jackson at the critical moment in the valley 
of Virginia, the arrival at the critical moment of the 
Monitor in the waters of Hampton Roads? If it be 
not the will of Heaven that we shall carry the Chris- 
tian's message of freedom and civilization to the ends 
of the earth, why did not the Lord send Dewey home? 
No, no, gentlemen; as God was radiant in the stars 
that shone over Washington at Valley Forge, over 
Lincoln at Gettysburg, over Grant in the Wilderness, 
over the fleets in Manila Bay, and the "bullies" in front 
of Santiago, does His radiance shine upon us, brothers 
in blood and arts and arms, whether our knees go down 
amid the snows or the flowers. Long ago the South, 
forgiving all, accepted the verdict in perfect faith. It 
is for the North, forgetting all, to seal it in perfect 
love. 



451 



V 

APPENDIX 

CERTAIN DOWNWARD TENDENCIES IN 
THE SMART SET OF FASHIONABLE 
SOCIETY 



453 



A FLOCK OF UNCLEAN BIRDS 
Courier- Journal, August 23, 1902. 

The Smart Set contrive to keep themselves before the 
public. Yet, somehow, it is their scandals, not their 
benefactions, that advertise them. But yesterday it 
was an automobile tragedy that recalled the infelicities 
and vulgarities of a family which, except for its mill- 
ions, would have decorated the criminal instead of the 
social annals of its time. To-day's sensation relates to 
an off-shoot of one of the oldest and richest of what 
the shoddy aristocracy delight to call "our American 
houses." . . . 

Now comes the Remington suicide. . . . And 
so it goes. We never hear of the Four Hundred except 
it be a murder, a suicide, or a divorce. A shot fired 
into a flock of these unclean birds cannot miss hitting 
an injured husband, a recreant and disgraced wife, or 
at the least some gilded nincompoop, who expects to 
offset his bad manners and worse English with his 
bulky bank-book ! 



APPROACHING THE LIMIT 

Courier- Journal, September 3, 1902. 

The wheel of life, the whirligig of time, bringeth 
not merely revenges, according to the adage, to the re- 
vengeful, but grist to the Yellow Journals; for each 
day of the year has its scandals and its tragedies; some 
rowdy-dow among the smart set at Newport; some 

455 



Appendix 



bloody deed lower down in the elbowing slums; with 
Pierpont Morgan, May Yohe, Schwab, and Gates for 
routine consumption — stock in trade, as it were, and 
very watered stock — in case the morgue yields not its 
victim, nor the Four Hundred its divorce. 

What a rich morsel was that little affair of the auto- 
mobilists near Paris, and how the sensation-mongers 
dwell upon the succeeding settlements ! Thursday, the 
Smith family got half-a-million, according to the San 
Francisco correspondents. Friday, the sum agreed 
upon had reached a million. Since nobody knows any- 
thing about it — even to the point whether there has been 
any settlement at all — it might as well be five millions 
as one million. Indeed, until the subject grows entirely 
stale, or is succeeded and obscured by another tragedy 
or scandal, we shall have all sorts of stories, big and lit- 
tle, for the edification of the prurient and morbid, and, 
then, each correspondent will undo his own work and 
do it over again. That is Yellow Journalism. 

As a matter of course, there is a market for such stuff. 
Since a fool is born every minute, the itch to be hum- 
bugged will probably never die. Yet more and more 
the public is being educated to discriminate between the 
contents of the decent, healthy, reliable daily news- 
paper, keeping constant faith with its readers, and the 
organ of the fancy, the dive-keeper's own, with its filthy 
appeals to the vulgar and the vicious, its lies of yester- 
day contradicted by the events of to-day, its sprawling 
headlines, inculcating equally bad morality and gram- 
mar. In the great cities the best paying newspapers are 
the cleanest. 

The Yellow Journal lives on ofifal. The time will 
come when it will be relegated to the back alleys and 
the dark places of the world, even the kitchen scullion 
and the street gamin preferring to get their information 
'^straight." Thus, in quickening the reaction against 

456 



Appendix 



itself, the Yellow Journal does an unconscious and an 
unintentioned service. There is a limit to sensational- 
ism as well as to indecency, and that limit has been 
very nearly reached. Meanwhile, down with to-day's 
newspaper, half of whose "news" has to-morrow either 
to be contradicted or ignored. 



THOSE UNCLEAN BIRDS AGAIN 

Courier- Journal, September 4, 1902. 

Commenting on some observations which lately ap- 
peared in these columns touching the Four Hundred, so 
called, the San Francisco Bulletin says that they are 
''intemperate," even for one whom it describes as habitu- 
ally "fiery," and then our esteemed contemporary comes 
to the rescue of that Flock of Unclean Birds with these 
deprecatory remarks: 

"Now, the 'Four Hundred* has its feults as a set, and 
there are black sheep enough within its folds ; but it is hardly 
right or fair for Mr. Watterson to apply to the entire set what 
is true, or partly true, of only a portion of the set. In the 
first place, the Four Hundred' is the creation of the press 
and of the vulgar. The 'Four Hundred* is a coterie of 
people who keep themselves apart and aloof from the rest of 
the population, and call themselves the best society. Unless 
the press and the vulgar recognized them as the best society, 
their styling themselves such would be as ridiculous as the 
attempt of a group of inmates of a poor-house or a prison to 
form an exclusive and best society. But the press and the 
vulgar do recognize the *Four Hundred* as the best or high- 
est society in the country, and the very publicity given to the 
action of its members — nay, even Mr. Watterson* s editorial 
— ^is homage to the pre-eminent social position of the 'Four 

457 



Appendix 



Hundred.' The people who revile the *Four Hundred* for 
its extravagances and scandals are the ones w^ho call it the 
best society, and never miss an opportunity to bask in its 
light.** 

We at once take issue with our critic as to his "facts." 
The "4CX)" may be "a creation of the press and of the 
vulgar," but they are not recognized by any competent 
tribunal as "the best society." Nor is it true that, if 
they were not so recognized, their attempt thus to 
classify themselves would be "as ridiculous as the at- 
tempt of a group of inmates of a poor-house or a prison 
to form an exclusive and best society." Such a proposi- 
tion is absurd on the face of it. It is libellous to say 
that "the people who revile the 400 . . . are the 
ones who call it the best society and never miss an op- 
portunity to bask in its light." Indeed, there is but one 
true statement in the passage quoted, to wit, that "the 
400 is a coterie of people who keep themselves apart and 
aloof from the rest of the population and call themselves 
the best society." 

In a country like ours, where there are no titles, nor 
patents of nobility, nor fixed, official insignia of rank, 
wealth is bound to set the pace, if not the standards, in 
what is called "Society." But, even in Europe, where 
titular and caste distinctions exist, there are good society 
and bad society, very markedly separate. 

The term Smart Set was adopted by the bad society of 
London to escape a more odious description. The dis- 
tinguishing trait of the Smart Set is its moral insensi- 
bility. It makes a business of defying and overleaping 
conventional restraints upon its pleasures and amuse- 
ments. Being titled, as a rule, and either rich in fact, or 
getting money how it may, it sets itself above all law, 
both human and divine. Its women are equally de- 
praved with its men. They know all the dirt the men 

458 



Appendix 



know. They talk freely with the men of things for- 
bidden the modest and the virtuous ; that passing freely 
vis-a-vis, or at table, which was once excluded as un- 
clean by gentlemen from the smoking-room. They read 
the worst French fiction. They see the worst French 
plays. The very question of sex becomes interchange- 
able, and sometimes it is the Sissy Earl, and always the 
Horsey Girl, who kicks out of traces and drags the 
Set through the mire. Beginning with the Tichborne 
trial, and the publication of all its unsavory details, 
quickly followed by the vile incidents of the Dilke and 
the Colin Campbell trials, an entire generation has been 
familiarized with nastiness; the divorce court serving 
as a very pest-house of immoral knowledge. 

The women of this Smart Set no longer pretend to 
recognize virtue even as a feminine accomplishment. 
Innocence is a badge of delinquency, a sign of the crude 
and raw, a deformity, which, if tolerated at all, must 
cany some promise of amendment; for, among these 
titled Cyprians, the only thing needful is to know it all ! 
In London and in Paris — at Monte Carlo in the win- 
ter, at Trouville and Aix in the summer — they make of 
life one unending debauch; their only literary proven- 
der, when they read at all, the screeds of D'Annunzio 
and Bourget; their Mecca, the roulette table and the 
race-course; their Heaven the modern yacht, with its 
luxury and isolation. The ocean tells no tales; and, as 
the Smart Set knows no law, when in extremis, it can 
go to sea. 

The Smart Set in America take their cue, along with 
their title, from the Smart Set of Europe. Behold 
them at the Horse Show in New York. Regard them 
at the swell resorts after the show. Their talk — such 
as can be heard — stocks and bonds, puts and calls, 
horses, scandals, and dogs. They, the "best society" — 
Good Lord ! Yet says their Occidental organ : 

459 



Appendix 



"Nor is the *Four Hundred* quite so bad as it is pictured. 
When a couple in the very smart set are divorced the papers 
make a huge display and outcry and everybody talks about it. 
But divorces among obscurer people, who reckon themselves 
thoroughly respectable, are obtained quietly every day and 
nothing said. Three or four families, having attracted con- 
siderable notoriety to themselves, have given the whole *Four 
Hundred' a bad name. 

**The * Four Hundred' may be made up of snobs, and 
there is certainly a fair proportion of fools in it, but the ma- 
jority of the members are pretty decent people, as people go, 
and as good as their contemners. At least, most of them 
have good manners and a surface politeness which is greatly 
in their favor. They avoid hurting the feelings of their fel- 
lows, they take off their hats at the right time, and they 
bathe a sufficient number of times in the month. When one 
of them gets drunk it is his unhappy privilege to be written 
up by an indignant newspaper man who is down on rum and 
feels that his mission is to reform the *Four Hundred' by pre- 
cept if not by example. When a good, respectable bourgeois 
has a little spree no newspaper attacks the immorality and in- 
ebriety of the middle class, and when Farmer Jones has a 
scandal in his family the stain is not smeared over the entire 
farming population of the land. 

'^Publicity carries a dreadful penalty, and the 'Four Hun- 
dred' pays the penalty to the full, with no credits for good 
behavior. But the 'Four Hundred' is preserved as a social 
entity by the publicity which its critics give it and by the spon- 
taneous and unanimous consent of those who recognize it as 
the best society and strive to climb into its sacred enclosure." 

Perusing this one might fancy it the homily of a rich 
commoner nursing the hope of a peerage. He uses the 
term "bourgeois" and "middle class" with the flip- 
pancy of a boulevardier, or a cockney. We look again 
to be quite sure we are not reading from some foreign 

460 



1 



Appendix 



society sheet, misprinted "San Francisco, U. S. A.'* 
Truly, we have come to a beautiful pass if the simper- 
ing Johnnies and tough girls that make Sherry's and 
Delmonico's "hum," that irradiate the corridors of the 
Waldorf-Astoria with the exhalations of their unclean 
lives and thoughts, emulating the demi-mondaines of 
the Second Empire, are to be accepted, even by in- 
ference, as "the best society," while the good and virt- 
uous of the land, even though quite able to pay their 
way at home and abroad, must be relegated to the 
"middle class," and dismissed as simple "bourgeoisie." 

Yet this is the effect, the morale, so to say, of such 
writing as that we have quoted. 

Our esteemed contemporary is mistaken. Where 
there is excessive wealth and the pride that comes from 
riches, there can be no real good. The Smart Set is 
rotten through and through. It has not one redeeming 
feature. All its ends are achieved by money, and 
largely by the unholy use of money. If one of them 
proposes to go into politics he expects to buy his way, 
and the rogues who have seats in Congress, or foreign 
appointments to sell, see that he pays the price. If one 
of them wants to marry a lord she expects to buy him, 
and the titled scamps who seek to recoup their broken 
fortunes see that she pays the price. Their influence is 
to the last degree corruptive. Their hangers-on and re- 
tainers are only such as money will buy. Nine out of 
every ten of the fortunes behind them will not bear 
scrutiny ; when it was not actually got by foul means, it 
yet goes back to the grimiest antecedents, the washtub 
and the stable yard, as in truth do many of the foreign 
titles which are so attractive to the nouveaux riches. 
Shall the press not exclaim against them without sub- 
jecting itself to the allegation of being mainly responsi- 
ble for their existence? Shall the pulpit not thunder 
against them without having some 'Frisco oracle of 

461 



Appendix 



fashion rise up and say, "They are not so bad after all!" 
Must these unclean birds of gaudy, and therefore of 
conspicuous plumage, fly from gilded bough to bough, 
fouling the very air as they twitter their affectations of 
social supremacy and no one to shy a brick and to cry, 
"Scat, you devils!" 

Revise thy judgments, brother of the Setting Sun, 
and bless thy God that the "middle class," of which 
thou speakest so loosely; the "bourgeoisie," with such 
unflattering levity; have no existence in this great land 
of ours outside thine own disturbed fancy ; but that from 
land's end to land's end, beginning with the rock-ribs of 
the coast of Maine and ending not this side the Golden 
Gate and the Coronado, there are myriads of cheerful, 
comfortable homes where "Dad," and "Mam," and 
"Granny," yea, and "Molly," and "Polly," and 
"Susey," and "Sis," lead clean and wholesome lives, 
happy in their ignorance of evil such as in the mouths 
of the Smart Set is familiar as household words; not 
merely honest, brawny people, who work for a living, 
and would scorn to have any earls or marquises sitting 
around on their cracker barrels, but educated, cultivated 
people, with plenty of money for all the reasonable lux- 
uries and adornments of life, who would blush to sit at 
table with these unclean birds and to listen to their 
chatter. 

If we are to be rescued from an aristocracy of money 
— from an untitled plutocracy as heartless as it is vul- 
gar — the line should be clearly drawn. It should be 
constantly drawn. It is enough for the poor devil who 
gets drunk that he is led away to the calaboose. The 
same for the millionaire, with this added, that, in pro- 
portion as he sets himself up for something, he pays the 
increased assessment upon his assumption. Likewise 
the debauched husband and the guilty wife; and all 
who think they are rich enough to defy the command- 

462 



Appendix 



ments of God and the conventions of man, or buy im- 
munity from the consequences of lawless indulgence. 

A very rich man was reported not long ago to have 
said that he would be ashamed to face the courts of 
Heaven with only his millions to pay his entrance fee. 
Another declared that the time is coming when excessive 
riches will need to make apology for their existence. 
That such sentiments find expression in such quarters 
is of good augury. They should be supported, not un- 
dervalued and decried. There is a way of making the 
money standard odious, and that is by making its corrupt 
and corrupting use odious. The Smart Set are a living 
reproach to riches. They furnish a striking example of 
the base use of wealth. Make their haunts of luxury 
and alimony not only infamous, but uncomfortable; 
drive their murderous White Ghosts and Red Rovers 
and Purple Assassins from the speedways; put such a 
brand upon their nomenclature that each individual will 
have to outlive it, making his own separate record for 
good and not for evil, and in another generation we shall 
see, at least, less brutal parvenuism and ostentatious dis- 
play for the perversion of the young, if not cleaner con- 
ditions in the parent nest. 

THE SMART SET, THE NEWSPAPERS, 
AND THE TRUTH 

Courier- Journal, September 17, 1902. 

When Ward McAllister, a rather absurd, but yet ,a 
well-born, gentleman, invented the Four Hundred, it 
was his purpose — two parts flunky and one part flam — 
to pay a kind of obeisance to certain families supposed 
to be rich enough to form a court-circle in the great and 
growing city of New York. 

463 



Appendix 



That was five-and-twenty years ago. There were 
many who laughed both at him and his conceit. There 
were some who seriously accepted the homage intended. 
Perhaps very few thought that the imaginary lines thus 
established in the mind's eye of a rather solemn bon 
vivant, who lived high and died poor, would come to be 
the boundaries of an actual territory; a newly discov- 
ered country as fantastic as Wonderland ; with laws of 
its own, inhabitated by a people marked, quoted, and 
signed for deeds of strenuous frivolity; an aristocracy 
without a pedigree; a Cercle de Rambouillet without 
wit or humor. 

In the good old days when Bret Harte was a social 
as well as a literary lion, and Mark Twain was consid- 
ered equal to extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, the 
dinners were in solid virtues worth what they paid for 
them in mirth-provoking jokes; the diners were dull, 
but respectable; Chauncey being grand chamberlain 
and toast-master in ordinary. What is now called 
Lower Fifth Avenue could not be described as Mr. 
Dooley recently described Newport, "the abode of 
luxury and alimony," where "the husband of yesterday 
inthradooces the wife that was to the wife that is, or 
ought to be." In the beginning it was a stifE-necked, 
high-backed affair. Having its abutment on Washing- 
ton Square, there were then, as there still are — around 
that genteel, comfort-breeding rectangle — plain, brick 
walls, with white facings, to which scandal was a 
stranger; habitations that went by the name of home; 
the homes of the Coopers, the Duncans, the Rhine- 
landers, the Hewitts, the Garners, the Thorndikes; 
solid folk, who, if not as rich as the elder Astors, were 
rich enough, and vied with the Astors in lives singularly 
clean and habits wholly unostentatious. They form 
to-day the basis of what may fairly be called good so- 
ciety. Accuse one of them of being of the Four Hun- 

464 



Appendix 



dred and, if you do not offer an insult, you perpetrate 
a solecism. 

Mr. Devery leads the four hundred of the slums. 
Who leads the four hundred of the upper crust? It 
matters little ; but wherein shall we seek for any moral 
difference in point of immoral influence that does not 
lean to the side of Devery? 

II 

It was all on account of moving uptown. It began 
with the sudden wealth of which war is the progenitor. 
As long as the average New Yorker had to work for his 
living and got his riches by the sweat of his brow, money 
had equally a character and a value. When Union 
Square was fenced round by a wooden paling and the 
site of the Fifth Avenue Hotel was yet a frog-pond, not 
a shop above Houston Street in Broadway — the old 
red-brick Roosevelt mansion at what is now Dead 
Man's Curve, a kind of advance-guard of the march 
northward — the grandees of Gotham were content to 
live in brown-stone fronts as like one to another as two 
of a kind ; and they lived exceeding well. They could 
tell the difference between Crow Whiskey and Rain- 
water Madeira. They played whist, not bridge. Grace 
Church, indeed, seemed to have a little more ruffle than 
shirt to it ; but there were other places of worship, and 
they were not ill-attended. But, about the time the 
equestrian statue of the Father of His Country went 
up, and the palings around Union Square came down, 
and the order to "place his head to the rising sun and 
his tail to Dr. Cheever's Church" was issued, the 
nouveaux riches of the war came upon the scene; the 
monotony of brown-stone was not good enough for 
them ; what had been the centre of culture and fashion 
— the sober shades of the Astor Library, and the orig- 

465 



Appendix 



inal homestead in Astor Place, just around the corner, 
hard by the Academy, where music was sometimes 
heard, the sombre gayety, the sure-footed, square-cut 
frivolity of Fifth Avenue but a stone's-throw away — 
were given over to Bohemia and the Bohemians ; greater 
space and seclusion, a wider amplitude of architectural 
display, were required to meet the bizarre taste of the 
army contractors and the stock-brokers and the length- 
ening shoddy line of those who had made a profit out 
of the opportunities of the time, shall we say out of the 
travail of their country and their countrymen? So, 
the uptown move began, and along with it the down- 
grade of fashion. 

With magical rapidity wealth had already started to 
accumulate; fortunes to be multiplied; millionaires to 
become as plentiful as blackberries; common; not only 
common in quantity, but in quality, likewise. Central 
Park was made to the very hands of these. That they 
should build their grandiose palaces near it was inevi- 
table. 

In the early seventies Fisk stood for the horrid ex- 
ample just as Devery stands now. The show was the 
thing; the "turn-out," as they called it. The Four 
Hundred had come neither to their patrimony nor their 
patronymic. But they existed in a crude, coarse way, 
expressing themselves in bang-tails and shirt-fronts and 
shiners; a trifle too brazen and noisy, perhaps, but un- 
deniably rich. The men had not yet learned the stony 
stare and the brutal swagger of the bucks of the Jardin 
Mabille and the titled bruisers of the Argyle Rooms. 
The women were still women — God bless them! — a 
little vulgarized by so much money, but ignorant of the 
pinchbeck airs and graces of the demi-mondaine and the 
unspeakable dirt of London and Paris. 

Yet, then, as now, the best people, no matter how 
rich, turned silently aside, and gave them the middle of 

466 



Appendix 



the road. The tragic end of Fisk was for a time an 
object lesson. It let in a flood of light and gave a 
moment's pause to the orgy of license which was exceed- 
ing its natural bounds and beginning to make its influ- 
ence felt in dangerous proximity to those regions where 
wealth was recognized as paramount. It was this 
which secured the modification of the Stokes verdict 
from death to a short term of imprisonment. 

The noxious weed, however, had taken root. The 
bucketshop was to become an institution, the stock 
gambler a power, the market as familiar to women as to 
men. Mr. Carnegie may give all of his millions to the 
noblest works. The Messrs. Rockefeller may endow 
a thousand schools and charities, while a dozen billion- 
aires may show by their wise and lavish use of money 
how ill they think of it except as the means of doing 
good; but, as the poor are always with us, so are the 
vulgarians, who, given money enough, set up a volupt- 
uous principality, call it the Four Hundred, and, hav- 
ing made sure of its boundaries and their isolation, pro- 
ceed to make their own moral code, hardly deigning 
even to ask the rest of the community, "What are you 
going to do about it?" 

The sea-going palace ; the modern auto ; the struggle 
for equivocal notoriety; the strife for titles; the eating 
from the tree of forbidden knowledge ; the aping of the 
manners of the foreign swell and the fancied great ; the 
marriage as an experiment and the marriage of con- 
venience; the hot pursuit of pleasure at home and 
abroad — in short, the constant striving after the osten- 
tatious display of wealth inevitable to the sun-worship 
of money — these are among the features that distinguish 
the Four Hundred from other rich people, who do not 
need to affect anything, who heartily despise such pro- 
ceedings, who, with fortunes secure and social positions 
fixed, live without scandal and travel without adven- 

467 



Appendix 



ture, but whom the wantons of the Smart Set describe 
as the "bourgeoisie." 

In separating the sheep from the goats, and properly 
ticketing the goats, shall one be accused of blasphemy? 

Ill 

We produce a varied assortment of editorial expres- 
sions upon this general subject, with particular refer- 
ence to some observations which lately appeared in these 
columns. They are characteristic. The American 
newspaper is nothing if not paradoxical. As usual, we 
find ourselves accused by some without discrimination 
and by others dismissed with vapid ebullitions of con- 
tempt. In the ethics of modern journalism few things 
are so touching as the disdain of the superior being who 
affects indifference when he cannot come to time, and 
marks his lack of sincere feeling and his incapacity to 
see and tell the truth, by the pretense of enlightened 
deliberation. 

"We have no defence to make," says one, and then 
goes on defending. "No class has a monopoly of good, 
or bad, qualities," says another, and, deprecating our 
"heat" and "undue excitement," proceeds to concede 
all we have claimed. Still another works in Burke's 
aphorism, "You cannot indict a whole people," as if 
we had, or as if these unclean birds were "a whole 
people." Our article "must receive considerable mod- 
ification," declares a critic posing as a jurist, "before 
persons who hold fact higher than fancy can be ad- 
vised to read it," the whole of the writing thus dis- 
credited reprinted elsewhere in the same paper to 
disprove the assertion and invite perusal. A certain 
Cholly Knickerbocker actually pretends to give in re- 
buttal a list of ladies and gentlemen, persons of the 
very highest character and standing, leading noble and 



Appendix 



useful lives, seeking by such a subterfuge to make It 
appear that we Included In our description everybody 
having a picture-gallery or holding a recognized place 
in society. It Is very funny, but to use a figure of the 
Smart Set, It won't wash! 

"All of us, your ladyship," Lord Brougham once 
said to a famous social leader, "all of us, as your 
ladyship knows, have committed adultery. But we 
must draw the line somewhere; and, for one, I fix it 
at murder!" 

There need be no mistaking the lines that fence in 
the Four Hundred. Nobody can deny, nor In truth 
through all the expressions called out by our writing 
do we find any denial, of the fidelity of the picture 
drawn by us. It Is the true, not the scurrilous, that 
hurts. At the same time It Is a fact that even In the 
better realms of luxury and wealth there Is a growing 
toleration of the unclean. Good people are not so 
shocked as they once were by moral Infractions. 

It Is observable that the men drink less, at least at 
table and In the public company of women, than they 
did thirty years ago. But what the men may have 
gained in this respect the women themselves have lost 
by the evolution of modern society and the progress 
of the desecration which that society has given the Idea 
of the new woman. It Is a doubtful term at best. If 
we would keep our women pure we must keep them 
ignorant. If not of evil, at least of dirt. But what 
shall be done, what can be done with those women 
w^ho Insist upon knowing all that the men know, and, 
by a certain not unreasonable claim of equality, who 
propose to keep up with the masculine procession, share- 
and-share alike ? There Is not a conscientious man, not 
a thoughtful woman, in the society of any of our great 
centres of population, who does not mark with serious 
apprehension the lowering tendencies of the time; the 

469 



Appendix 



multiplication of frivolous marriages, the desecration 
of the marriage tie, the increasing number of scandal- 
ous divorces, directly traceable to the spirit of lawless- 
ness in excessive wealth and the bad example of the 
infamous but prosperous rich. Yet, if we read our 
critics aright, we must not speak of these things except 
in decorous, half-excusing whispers. We must not call 
a spade a spade. If we do, we at once become "indis- 
creet" and "sensational," getting our information at 
"second hand," or else the subject of some "pique," 
or "resentment," or, at the very least, "ignorant" and 
"underbred." 

In certain circles, where money rules, and the pres- 
ence of Quality is indicated by the absence of all else, 
the one unpardonable sin is conviction. Whatever else 
you are, or are not, you must eschew enthusiasm. You 
may deal in vulgar double entendre; you may back- 
bite, or lie outright; you may make love to your 
friend's wife, or inveigle his daughter; but you must 
not be loud. The tone of your voice must suit itself 
to a kind of drawl that is in the very atmosphere. 
" 'Tis English, you know," they used to say, until a 
song made game of that form of expression and ex- 
pelled it from polite society. The average newspaper 
seems thence to have taken its cue. It, too, afEects a 
fine superiority to feeling. Indifference serves as an 
excellent recourse, where either there is no belief at 
all, or the incapacity to express it in good round terms 
of robust English. Imperturbability takes the place of 
honest hate and scorn. To be in earnest is to be ex- 
cited; to be plain-spoken is to be inspired by personal 
motives, and to be personal is to be "damned." Is it 
not so ? 

« * * « « 4^ 4t 

Back of all this stands not alone a great moral prob- 
lem, but a great national and economic problem. The 

470 



Appendix 



pretence that we have maligned anybody, or spoken 
outside the record, is a device of the guilty, and their 
newspaper apologists, to hide behind the self-respect- 
ing and the virtuous. It is of the essence of caste dis- 
tinction, where the rule is, touch one, touch all ; a rule 
which, during the Reign of Terror, brought thousands 
of the inocent and the good along with the bad to the 
guillotine. 

Licentiousness, like revolution, goes not backward. 
The assumption of to-day becomes the claim of to- 
morrow. In a land where there are no patents of 
nobility, and where in some sort money must set the 
standards, the rich themselves, before all others, should 
look to it that their colleagues in good fortune do not 
disgrace the order — shall we say of the Golden Fleece ? 
— by their disregard of common rights and their indif- 
ference to public opinion. 

We do not need to institute any historic parallels; 
to take to ourselves any lessons from ancient Greece 
and Rome, or modern France, suggestive as these may 
be. He is but a poor observer of contemporary life, 
and no prophet at all, who does not see that the whole 
trend of public affairs is set toward an ultimate con- 
flict between the forces of Prerogative, on the one 
hand, and the forces of what the exclusive few delight 
to call the Great Unwashed on the other hand; be- 
tween Capital, too often avaricious and grasping, and 
Labor, grimy and passionate, and, left riderless, a 
monster without a head. It is beside the purpose to 
say that there are rich men humane, generous, chari- 
table. So are there poor men patient, wise, conserva- 
tive. It Is with forces, not Individuals, we shall have 
to deal; and, though temporizing may postpone the 
day, the day Is surely coming when It Is to be decided 
who owns the country, who controls the Government, 
the aggregations of wealth mainly piled up In a single 

471 



Appendix 



section, or the hewers of wood and the drawers of wa- 
ter who do the work and fight the battles and pay the 
taxes, the great commonalty of what Abraham Lin- 
coln called "the plain people." Enlightened men 
would moderate that conflict. The scandalous be- 
havior of the conspicuous rich plays directly to the lead 
of the extremist and the agitator, with unclean hands 
preparing the pick-axe of the leveller and the brand of 
the incendiary. The inditterence of the guild of lux- 
ury and wealth — not to mention the common cause 
which too many of the worthy rich from a mistaken 
sense of association make with these — is replete with 
evil auguries. 

Human nature has not much changed since man be- 
came acquainted with it. That we are yet upon the 
ascending not the descending scale of national devel- 
opment need not be denied. But we live in an ac- 
celerated age, electricity having annihilated time and 
space, and, the Latin races doomed, Spain dead, Italy 
dying, France down with an incurable disease — the 
causes before our very eyes — shall we not seek to es- 
cape what seems to have been the destiny, not so much 
of luxury and wealth, as the vicious assumption of class 
superiority, and the injustice of organized money, per- 
colating what is called Society for pleasure, corrupting 
the fountains of the national credit and honor for 
profit ? 

If such offenses as we have set forth are endured 
and condoned, how long before that which embraces 
but a set becomes the distinguishing mark of a section? 
If the press is so easily seduced, or misled, what must 
it become when it is bought outright? Look at the 
lobby at Washington. Does it not exist? Yet are 
there those who will swear that it is only a figment 
of partisan malignity. It already costs a million of 
dollars to set a Presidential ticket in the field; already 

472 



Appendix 



a hundred thousand dollars to sustain a contest for a 
seat in the Senate of the United States ; how long shall 
it be — the press already defending the Four Hundred 
— before our public men shall become but a race of 
Medician princes, without the learning or the arts of 
Florence, and the Presidential chair itself a simple com- 
modity, to be knocked down to the highest bidder? 

The writer of these lines has always stood for the 
decent, the stable, and the orderly in govenment and 
life. He has grown gray fighting to defend the altars 
of public credit and private honor. He would no more 
cast a stone into the stagnant pool of a corrupt social 
fabric just to see the scum rise to the surface than he 
would do any other perilous and unclean thing. He 
was drawn into this present contention not of his own 
choice. Yet, if he had to make his case before his 
Maker, he would humbly represent that the time has 
come when some voice loud enough to be heard should 
be raised against an increasing evil, having its centre 
in the thing called by a most equivocal courtesy the 
Four Hundred, and hope to be forgiven, in the event 
that his voice provoked a single echo in response. 



STILL HARPING ON MY DAUGHTER! 

Courier- Journal, June lO, 1903. 

The Pittsburg Press, following in the wake of those 
melancholy yet belated Danes of daily journalism, who 
are saddest when they sing, as in truth are those that 
hear them, is still, as our old friend Polonius observes, 
"harping on my daughter," the particular daughter in 
question being the Smart Set, so-called the Four Hun- 
dred, of odious if not of blessed memory. From a long, 
double-leaded, double-column leading editorial, pert, 

473 



Appendix 



but prolix, a trifle groggy, and a good deal unthoughted, 
we quote the following : 

«*What are we going to do with our Smart Set, particu- 
larly that conspicuous portion of it which moves and has its 
being in the metropolis and Newport? Naturally, this is not 
the whole Smart Set. There is a Smart Set not only in New 
York but also in Kalamazoo. Who that has been in Sque- 
dunk has not been impressed by the Squedunk 'Four Hun- 
dred'.? But it is of the New York Smart Set that Mr. 
Andrew Carnegie, and Dr. Peabody, of Boston, and Edward 
Everett Hale, all of whom would have been supposed to be 
eligible to the Smart Set of any locality, despair. They may 
not all express their concern in the manner of Henry Wat- 
terson, who would probably challenge to a duel anyone who 
mistook him for a 'fashionable.' But they unite in deploring 
the tendencies and the aims and the influence of the people 
who are by common consent regarded as the leaders of the 
most fashionable 'society* of the country." 

The reference here to the editor of the Courier-Jour- 
nal, which Is a little forced — also nearly out of date — 
represents what Charles Lamb would have called "a 
case of Imperfect sympathy." The editor of the Cou- 
rier-Journal Is nothing If not a "fashionable," though 
there might be a difference of opinion as to terms. At 
least the Courier- Journal, for whose contents he may 
be held accountable, has never yet been accused of fall- 
ing behind the procession, either at home or abroad. In 
London, In Paris, In the Borough of Manhattan — 
sometimes In the sacred precincts of the Borough of 
Brooklyn, and often amid the picturesque fastnesses of 
the Borough of the Bronx — the Smart Set call for It, 
the Four Hundred cry for It. In Kentucky it is the 
guide, philosopher, and friend of those Democrats who 
believe in Democracy unterrified and undefiled, and 

474 



Appendix 



are still voting for Jefferson, Jackson, and Tilden, and 
likewise of those Republicans, who, in matters of lit- 
erature, science, and art — discounting its politics as at 
the worse a disagreeable idiosyncrasy — do not wish, cer- 
tainly do not mean, to be left at the post. 

If the Pittsburg Press were up to date — ^if it had any 
kind of style about it — surely it would not, in speaking 
of the editor of the Courier- Journal, fall into the stu- 
pidity of picturing him as half-horse and half-alligator 
of the regulation variety. There is "no sich a person," 
as Mrs. Gamp might say; though of this, more anon! 
Quoting Mr. Andrew Carnegie, Dr. Edward Everett 
Hale and Professor Peabody in identical corroboration 
of all the Courier- Journal has ever said, the Press pro- 
ceeds thus: 

**It is quite evident, therefore, that the state of affairs is 
serious. When Colonel Watterson effervesces, we may per- 
haps pardonably shrug our shoulders and go on in the way 
we are going. But when Mr. Carnegie, Professor Peabody, 
and Edward Everett Hale and men of their stamp confess 
their indignation and alarm, the evil must be real and it must 
be pressing. It is to be trusted they will continue raising 
their potent voices as eloquently as they have begun. Men 
of right ideas but meagre bank accounts may be sneered 
down when they venture to condemn the unworthy example 
of youthful millionaires who impudently set up a golden calf 
and find thousands eager to worship it. But Carnegie, Pea- 
body, and Hale — these are men on whom the best-directed 
sneers fail to leave their mark. When they begin to turn 
aside with righteously flaming eyes from monkey parties and 
other orgies supposed to be smart, many silly hands that had 
been rapturously demonstrative before will suddenly cease 
their applause.*' 

Observing that the "effervescence" ascribed to the 
editor of the Courier- Journal is nearly a year old — in- 

475 



Appendix 



dicating a tolerably genuine brand of the wine of truth 
and soberness — we have the right to ask — that is to say, 
if we were speaking seriously and not facetiously, we 
should have the right to ask — why that in the editor of 
the Courier-Journal, a rather old hand at the bellows, 
and therefore so reasonably familiar with the world at 
large and its passing events as to be hardly capable of 
surprise at anything, should be pictured as effervescence, 
which in Mr. Carnegie, Dr. Hale, and Professor 
Peabody — men of scholarship and business, who have 
had scant opportunity to attain a knowledge of the 
wickedness and frivolity of the times they have lived in 
— should be heralded as the Ultima Thule of delibera- 
tion and wisdom? 

The matter respecting the Smart Set, the Four Hun- 
dred, to which our Pittsburg contemporary goes out of 
its way to refer, appeared in the Courier- Journal nearly 
a year ago. It was germane to a dreadful, heart-break- 
ing tragedy at Newport. Knowing the parties and the 
facts, we drew the line if not at murder, at least at sui- 
cide. Having said what seemed needful to be said, we 
passed to other scenes and other events. The journal- 
ist, like the actor, is a creature of the moment, the 
merest abstract and brief chronicle of the time, who, 
dying, leaves no copy. The editor of the Courier-Jour- 
nal is not a crusader; he is a journalist, instinct with 
the sense of life, and the reflection of its currencies, per- 
haps a little instinct with the love of truth, assuredly 
not, as the career of the Courier- Journal will show, a 
lover of strife, or sensations. He was born in what is 
called society and grew up in it at Washington and New 
York, living in it somewhat later on in London and in 
Paris and even — he has no reason to blush for admitting 
it — at Newport. All that he said in what he wrote of 
the Remington tragedy he personally knew to be true. 
Every word of it has been more than vindicated by suc- 

476 



Appendix 



ceeding events, and the repeated outgiving of others be- 
sides Mr. Carnegie, Dr. Hale, and Professor Peabody, 
whom the Pittsburg Press trots out as w^itnesses to its 
own homilies, which are admirable, being little more 
than iteration of what was said in these columns. So — 
barring the duello — does not the writer of this article 
think that he owes us an apology ? 

Alas and alack the day! We set out to defend our- 
selves against a false accusation in a mock court, with 
the purpose of being facetious. We meant to say a lot 
of smart things of the Smart Set, and, indirectly, of our 
esteemed contemporary, the Pittsburg Press. The 
words refuse to come to us. We do not mean to be 
mawkish, but the dead face of that young man lying 
there in the Casino at Newport comes back to us, and, 
his father's friend and schoolmate, we cannot make 
light of it. To say truth, no sensible man could care 
anything the one way or other about the Smart Set. 
The Four Hundred must be to such an one a matter of 
total indifference. As to the Courier-Journal, it spoke 
out a little indignantly, perhaps — somebody gaffed it, 
and then it struck out — and perhaps it has regretted it 
ever since because it started so many foolish pens 
a-going. 

The Pittsburg Press must not only apologize to us, 
but it must revise its judgment. Honest indignation, 
sometimes aggressively — never unthoughtedly — ex- 
pressed, we own to; effervescences — impossible! How 
could a man, sprung from the ranks and yet able to do 
any kind of work on the force, from "legs" up — how 
could a cold-nosed dog, with a life-time of newspaper 
experience behind him — how could a writer, jealous of 
his parts of speech and using the blue pencil at three and 
sixty as he used it at three and thirty — how could such 
a person "effervesce"? 

477 



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